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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691026">Mostly Void, Partially Hope (or stars)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanie_cryptid/pseuds/beanie_cryptid'>beanie_cryptid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Nebula (Marvel), BAMF Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Gen, Genius Tony Stark, Irondad, Nebula &amp; Tony Stark Friendship, Nebula Needs a Hug (Marvel), Nebula discovering human culture, Nebula is a Good Bro (Marvel), Thanos (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and the benatar is nebula's, it comes more in later though, space tony stark, that should also be a tag, that should be a tag, the milano still exists bc i said so, the universe loves tony way more than earth, they go on a little space roadtrip</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:07:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanie_cryptid/pseuds/beanie_cryptid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Titan, Tony Stark and Nebula are left to get back to Earth with a failing ship and no help for miles. They have to trust each other, the circumstances won't allow for anything else, but perhaps there's more. </p><p>~</p><p>Or; Tony accidentally adopts another person, he and Nebula are badass space travellers and explorers, they're both sad (but it's better to be sad together, right?) and Nebula likes indie rock and chess.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(kinda) - Relationship, Nebula &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>300</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 1</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. "Ship's Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 1. Earth date 2018. </p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Hey. I guess this is a bit of an unconventional ship's log, but I never was one was for convention, and it's pretty likely nobody's ever going to hear this, so it doesn't matter. I wouldn't usually do something like this, but the kid," A pause, approximately 2 seconds. A man's laboured breathing, approximately 1 second. "The kid would kill me if I didn't do something like this, so here we are.</p><p>Nebula, she's the blue alien girl who's ship this is, fixed the ship. We fixed the ship, we're on our way home. At least, my way home. I don't know where her home is, but she says she'll go wherever I want to, and then wherever the ship takes her. I picked up the alien tech pretty fast, it's not that different to ours, really. There are different materials, and systems, but get past that and physics still works the same, as does electricity and the rest, so it's not too hard to pick up. Maybe I'm just a genius, either is plausible.</p><p>Either way, Smurfette is impressed, so I'm counting it as a win. She says I'm better than her, and I don't think she knows what I compliment is, so I'll take it.</p><p>If we get back, I'll do something with this alien knowledge, I don't know, build something. Fix something. That's what I do, that's what I have done and that's what I will do. No doubt.</p><p>Earth must be in turmoil, or something of the like. Half the population has disappeared, of course it will be. Maybe I can fix that too, God knows I'm going to try.</p><p>We stayed on Titan for a day after, gathering fuel and food and the like. I'm still not sure quite what Squidward's metabolism was because his ship didn't seem to have any food. Maybe he had some misty-magicky way of feeding himself without actual food. Plenty of fuel though, on the ship.</p><p>The Milano had more food, and fuel, and for some reason a small troll statue. Who knows, Star Duke guy or whatever his name was was pretty weird. We took it though, it's in the storage compartment with the food.</p><p>So now, we're on the ship, we gotta focus on getting back home, then finding the stones and the purple grape, killing him and then bringing everyone back. Easy. Four steps. Easy." A short pause, approximately 2 seconds. Faster than average breathing can be heard in the background. "So yeah. There's not much to say, really. I'm gonna try teach old Violet Beauregarde some games, while away the time. I bet she'd be a demon chess player, give it a week or so." The voice cuts off and another, more breathy and muffled voice can be heard faintly, though the words aren't clear. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Well, she wants me to check over the controls again, so I guess I gotta blast.</p><p>There'll be another update tomorrow. There's not much else to do here, but defying boredom had always been a knack of mine. I'm gonna go help the Cyborg Smurf back there. Hang in there, whoever's going to listen to this, if anyone.</p><p>End recording."</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Tony reaches out with an only slightly shaking hand and flicks off the recording device on his helmet. God knows why he's doing this, it's not going to help in the slightest.</p><p>The kid would like it, though, a ship's log on an interstellar journey, a voyage through the abyss, documented by the strong but slowly failing soldier, striving for survival. An unwelcome memory flashes behind his eyelids as they close, sitting on a roof above a glowing city and staring out at the night sky. Or just the sky, but now it's night, you can see so far.</p><p>Daylight can be so fickle.</p><p>The kid sits next to him, legs crossed and head tilted up in wonder.</p><p>"Mostly void, partially stars," the kid says quietly, and chuckles to himself. It's probably some reference to something, Tony doesn't know what. It's fine, he doesn't really need to.</p><p>Here, it's everywhere, all around, and the mostly void feels so much more than the partially stars.</p><p>"Stark?"</p><p>A voice cuts through his head, tentative and suspicious and softly spoken. </p><p>"Hey, Neytiri."</p><p>He stands up, dusting himself off with a smile her way. Nebula stands in the door, eyes trained on her face. He's known her a full 36 hours or so and this fixed stare is becoming rather a common thing. It's not so much wonder or appreciation, as stares his way tend to be, but curiosity and maybe confusion and very probably a slight bit of I want to bore a hole in your skull with my eyes.</p><p>"I have already told you that my name is Nebula."</p><p>"And I told you to call me Tony. See, we can come to an agreement. You call me Tony, I call you Nebula. Deal?"</p><p>"Deal."</p><p>He holds out his hand for her to shake as he nears the door, and she stares at it in confusion, then back up at him, and down again.</p><p>"You shake my hand, like this." To what seems to be her surprise, though emotions aren't the easiest thing to work out with her, he takes her hand and shakes it firmly. She seems surprised, but shakes it firmly.</p><p>"What is it for?"</p><p>"It's called a handshake. I know, unoriginal name, but what can I say? Language is a bitch. Anyway, it's used to signify agreeing to a deal. We decide to make a deal, or an alliance or something, we shake on it. Good?" She nods in a manner that suggests this is something very important and he's not sure if he wants to laugh or cry.</p><p>"It is good."</p><p>"Okay, okay, good, good, right, now, controls?"</p><p>She nods, and they spend the next hours sat cross-legged next to each other on the floor, tinkering. It feels familiar, maybe not right, but familiar. It's an odd comfort, like the troll statue he found aboard the Milano or the faceplate he salvaged from the suit.</p><p>He used to talk to his suits, before the whole Mandarin thing, and this whole… log thing, feels just like it. Slightly more personal, maybe, more emotional. It's nowhere near talking to his bots, but it's enough.</p><p>They finished controls a while back, and now Nebula, ever productive, is sending out a distress signal to wherever she can reach in every language she can think of. Tony, of course, is making a chess set.</p><p>There's not a lot of stuff on the ship to use as chess pieces, but he can make do. He's good at that, improvising. Take Afghanistan, New York, hell, even that time he got himself locked in the freezer room of his boarding school (see: was shut in by other students for entertainment on their part) and managed to get himself out within 5 minutes using a device made from the few odds and ends lying around to deactivate all the locks in the school and open the door via the fire alarm.</p><p>(He learnt three things from that escapade. One, human children can be ruthlessly mean. Two, people somehow deem it necessary to have a fire alarm in a freezer room,  which he would understand if the freezer room hadn't been more a room for cold water than ice going by how soaked he was from the encounter and how weird the food tasted. Three, unlocking every single door in a building will not go unnoticed, and will definitely cause havoc, especially in a building full of teenage boys. None had been things he'd particularly wanted to know; the one about the fire alarm and the freezer, though harmless, brought his knowledge reluctantly to that fact that all ye goodbye was eating one  regular basis was not frozen properly at all and he was actually at risk of food poisoning. Not the most comforting fact, as can be guessed pretty easily from the odd aversion humans have for getting ill.)</p><p>"Stark. No. Tony. Do you need to eat now?" Nebula's voice breaks the silence and his clattering thoughts.</p><p>"Yeah, that might be a good idea. Thanks for the reminder, Nebula. Do you need to?"</p><p>She stares him down for a moment, then shrugs, though the relief of tension that usually comes with the gesture is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>"My father made me so that I need to eat very rarely. Anyway, your life has more value than mine, and therefore you should eat more than me. Is that not how it works?"</p><p>Tony stops in surprise, because if there was anything he was expecting from Nebula, it wasn't self deprecation. Or low self-worth, especially this matter-of-factly. It sounds unnervingly like he used to (and still does, sometimes).</p><p>He supposes he should have guessed; having Thanos for a father can't be great on the self esteem.</p><p>"No, your life is worth the same as mine."</p><p>"Tony, I am confused. Is it not true that human worth is measured by relationships with people and how you treat others, correct? At least, Quill tells me so."</p><p>"Yeah, I mean, kinda?"</p><p>"And I have no positive relationships with anyone, and I am an ex assassin, I treat others badly, whereas you have friends and you work to protect the people of Terra. Meaning your worth as a person is more, and therefore your life."</p><p>Tony frowns, shifting to sit facing her.</p><p>"No, people may have different worth, but lives do not. Every life is worth the same. Yours as much as mine. Plus, you treat me kindly, so there's that."</p><p>She looks, for the first time he's ever seen, taken aback. There's a sneaking suspicion somewhere in his mind that she's never been called kind before, or even been allowed to be kind. He's not sure if what she's doing is out of kindness, but it certainly feels like being kind, at least a little, and she deserves to know that.</p><p>"I- Thank you, Tony Stark."</p><p>"No problem, Nebula Cyborg-Smurf."</p><p>She frowns, and extends a hand to help him stand up. It crosses his mind fleetingly that this is the first physical contact she's allowed him in their admittedly short time acquainted.</p><p>"That is not my surname."</p><p>He lets out a chuckle, and it's almost unexpected. It sounds barely like a laugh, more like nails scratching at a board, halfway between a gasp and a plea for humour. It hurts, his throat and his heart.</p><p>"It's a nickname, Nebula."</p><p>"What is a 'nickname'?"</p><p>"Ok, I'll explain."</p><p>He offers a smile, and she doesn't quite return it, but there's a quirk of her lips in there somewhere. He'll take that as a victory.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He sits in the front of the ship and watches what is supposed to be mostly void, partially stars. </p><p>It looks more like nothingness speckled with the occasional glimmer of a distant, burning ball of gas, which he supposes is just another way of putting it. If he was feeling poetic, and he kind of is, he might say it looks like despair with Tony glimpses of the light at the end of the tunnel.</p><p>Scratch that, he's not feeling poetic in the slightest.</p><p>They watch him like tiny, wavering eyes, scrutiny from every direction. He feels not-alone, which he supposes is true, since Nebula is sitting just five meters away at the table. He's not sure whether not-alone is a good thing or not. It wasn't galactically, or when there's deranged copies of your suit flying around shooting at you and, coincidentally, everyone around you, but he likes company, most of the time. Nebula's isn't an exception, and not just because he'd rather not be alone in this huge expanse of void.</p><p>No, mostly void, partially stars.</p><p>He goes over the words in his mind, repeats it like a mantra for no reason but that they bring an odd sort of comfort.</p><p>Maybe if the kid was here, he would know what to do, and why he feels like this. He is so smart. Was. So smart and understanding and kind and good and now he's gone and it's Tony's fault.</p><p>He failed him; he failed everyone, but most of all he failed him.</p><p>He lets the tears come, for the first time since it all happened, and the stars watch like a thousand curious eyes of a thousand devastating spectators. The stars burn, and they watch.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 4</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. "Ship's Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 4. Earth date 2018. </p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Um, hey. Wow, this is weird. I speak to myself sometimes, and the bots, but not like, directly, heart-to-heart, y'know. It feels weird.</p><p>Cyborg Smurf up in the front has worked out we have enough food for about three weeks, so that's good. We can come up with something, we can, kid, I know it.</p><p>You'd like her, I think. She's not the most likeable at first, but she grows on you. She's coming out of her shell, a bit. I'm teaching her chess and she's good. Not Vision level but still, good. You'd like her, you would. You like everyone, except maybe Cap. I think I'm more thankful for you not liking him than I should be.</p><p>But yeah. She didn't really understand the point of playing a game at first, being a child of Thanos and all, but she's getting it. I'm gonna teach her everything, kid, in the time we have. She deserves a life.</p><p>We still haven't figured out how to fix the hyperdrive yet, after being squashed with, y'know, a planet, as the ship was. It's intact but something happened to the hyperdrive and we can't just zap home.</p><p>We'll get there.</p><p>I've learnt more about alien tech as well, it's fascinating. They're stuff isn't necessarily better than ours, but they just use completely different chains of logic at times that also work, and their science is so similar to ours but not. I think it's not that they did something different, it's that we humans are weird and the logic got weird somewhere as well. We left out magic somewhere along the way, for the most part, which is a shame.</p><p>I like our science though, it's good science.</p><p>I'll teach you everything, I promise.</p><p>We had to leave the Milano behind, but some of its parts are useful, and now we're getting more places than we would if we didn't have their cellular core, which is a weird somewhat living thing they use sometimes for power. It's not great, since it needs to be fed occasionally and according to Neb it's unreliable and out of date technology, but it works ok if we need extra power.</p><p>I'm glad this doesn't take any power from the ship, we all know ship's logs are an essential part of any voyage.</p><p>We're gonna get home, we're gonna bring everyone back. It's going to be okay." A short period of quite, approximately 7 seconds. Soft breathing can be heard. "I'd better go, but I'll log tomorrow, as I've done every day. We'll get there, we'll get home, we'll get everyone home.</p><p>Hang in there, buddy.</p><p>End recording.”</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Nebula has taken a liking to Tony Stark. It doesn't happen often, but she has. He's even smarter than her and really, that's a surprise. Earth is lucky to have a creature so smart.</p><p>He treats her… differently, at least in comparison to how everyone else has, which is weird. Not unwelcome, though. He treats her like the Guardians used to treat each other. Like they tried to treat her, she supposes, but it was never quite there - she was always hovering on the edge. They're gone now, so it doesn't really matter.</p><p>He's taught her things as well. He's taught her what a handshake is, what a game is, how to play chess. He’s told her how the glowing thing in his chest works and what it’s for, and used to be for; he’s shown her what a nickname is. He taught her to make her own.</p><p>She calls him Tin Can, after Quill's soliloquy on the wondrousness of tinned pears.</p><p>He’s sleeping now, breathing softly from  the other side of the room, hands raised to his chest, to the shining blue light. Whilst he sleeps, she watches him, usually. Obviously, she knows what sleep is, but she doesn’t have to do it, she hasn’t for as long as she can remember, and she’s not often around sleeping people either.</p><p>There’s a part of her which wonders what resting like that would feel like, and yearns for something like that, but the rest of her is just scared that when she stops being useful and doing something, she’ll fade away, or something akin to that. She supposes she’s afraid of not doing something. She’s being active for so long she doesn’t really know how to stop.</p><p>Fear is an odd concept - she’d known it before, of course. It was what flickered in the eyes of men before she cut them down and what her father asked her, told her, to inspire in people, and she wasn’t quite sure what it meant. She knows now, she knows.</p><p>There’s a chess board in front of her, a square scratched in the surface of the table, what she supposes is meant to be different colours scratched in the same fashion in little squares. Little ornaments are lined up at each end, ranks faced against each other. He tells her she needs to be less aggressive when taking out other pieces, but this is battle, and battle is, by nature, aggressive. It’s just a game, he says, it doesn’t matter who wins in the long run, it’s just for fun. </p><p>She hopes she’s slowly getting it. At least, she’s stopped thinking of it as war and more as entertainment. There’s still that vindictive need to strike down every last piece of his, but it’s slightly more good-natured now. He says she’s good at it. </p><p>He says she’s good at a lot of things.</p><p>Parts of her know what he means, and others aren’t quite sure. It’s not telling her how to improve, so what is the worth? It’s not going to make her better. It gives her a small warm feeling that she doesn’t have a name for, though, so it’s ok, she’ll accept it.</p><p>Perhaps there’s a way it can make her improve, there always is.</p><p>Her confusion hasn’t stopped her from saying the same thing about him though, telling him he’s smart because he is. It’s impressive, for a Terran, the amount he knows and can do. Impressive for anyone, Terran or not, really. He thanks her, after, and that’s confusing as well.</p><p>He tells her she’s kind.</p><p>Kindness… isn’t something that’s ever been associated with her, or that she’s ever associated with herself. She can associate it with him, certainly, the way he offers his food and entertainment and treats her like others treat each other. He doesn’t see her as a threat, or the mindless assassin she’s known as. That is kindness, she knows this.</p><p>It’s not something she’d use to describe herself.</p><p>She wants to be kind, she thinks. She just doesn’t really know how to, and there’s something that stops her. What use would kindness be? It’s not going to get them home, it’s not going to help her improve. She wants to help him, though, she does. </p><p>After, she’ll go, somewhere, continue whatever she was doing before. She can’t really remember what she is without Thanos, there’s this gap where she’s supposed to be something but she’s not. Stark seems to think she is something without him, and she wonders what he sees.</p><p>A sound from the other side of the room cuts off her thoughts, a sharp intake of breath and a whispered ‘no’. It’s repeated, over and over, louder and louder, just,</p><p>“No, no, no no no no nonononono.” He’s shaking, hard, hands clutching to his chest, and then all of a sudden he calms, there’s a small smile. She stares at him quizzically. He stays relaxed for about 20 seconds before he tenses again, and this time it’s whispered under his breath, just once. There’s water on his face. Tears, Gamora had told her. Signs of sadness.</p><p>She stands up, careful not to knock over any chess pieces, and moves over to him. Touching is not… her thing, but still, she crouches next to him and pokes at his leg. </p><p>“Stark. Stark. Wake.”</p><p>For a moment, she’s sure he’s not going to respond, then he sits up suddenly, breathing laboured and heavy, hand clutching at the device in his chest. Arc reactor, her mind supplies.</p><p>“Stark. Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m good, I’m good, just a nightmare.”</p><p>“What is a nightmare?”</p><p>He stares at her for a second, then his gaze softens from panic to something else she can’t put a finger on.</p><p>“It’s like, a vision, a scene that plays in your mind whilst you are asleep, but a bad one. Dreams are the good ones. Usually, they mean nothing and they’re harmless, sometimes they’re memories, or warning sometimes if you want to believe in telling the future.”</p><p>“Some people can.”</p><p>He nods, sitting up further.</p><p>“Of course, space magic, my bad.”</p><p>“What was that nightmare about?”</p><p>She’s blunt, though she doesn't mean to be, and he stares at her in what seems to be both shock and possibly confusion for a moment.</p><p>“You sure you want to know? You know what, it’ll be good to get off my chest, let’s have a nice little heart to heart.”</p><p>She sits down cross-legged in front of him and waits for his rambling to continue.</p><p>“Okay, so, it was mostly, mostly my kid, you know, the kid who was on Titan.” Tony stops, breath stuttering again, and he gathers himself before continuing. “Just him dying, again. So that’s all fun and games.”</p><p>“It does not sound like fun.”</p><p>He lets out a short laugh which sounds vaguely painful.</p><p>“It was sarcasm, Neb.”</p><p>“Sarcasm? What is sarcasm?”</p><p>“I’ll explain later.”</p><p>She nods seriously, training her eyes onto his own, They’re shining, and she suspects not for a good reason. Could mean more tears, by her estimations.</p><p>“You said mostly. What else was it.”</p><p>There’s a long moment where he just tilts his head and stares at her, as if she’s done something saddening, or perhaps surprising, from what she knows of human expressions. She wonders what she’s done to surprise him, it’s nothing dissimilar to his own morbid curiosity,</p><p>“Right, um, I, uh, I’ll show you.” What she’s not expecting now, is for him to lift his shirt up, to reveal the glowing device and heavily scarred skin, a huge jagged horror of warped flesh in an oddly curved line down the centre. She stares in horror for a moment, at the way it’s been torn apart, all across his chest. “Yeah, pretty disgusting right? The whole thing ended with me on life support for a month so that was great. Basically, it started with this pretentious bastard called Steve Rogers…”</p><p>She listens.</p><p>Over the course of the admittedly short (and probably missing a load of details) but horrific anecdote, something in her decides that she absolutely detests whoever this guy with the shield is. He shows her a picture of him, standing in a group with who she can only suppose is the Avengers, which he pulls out of his wallet. She hates him even more on sight.</p><p>She’s not sure what it is, this anger, but the utter resignation with which he speaks about it makes her want to punch that guy in his chiseled jaw. Hard. Preferably multiple times. Perhaps with a brick. </p><p>He sits for a while in silence after, and she doesn’t come near him, but he seems content with just the company, so she stays. This isn’t rest, sitting and not moving, she tells herself, this is service for another, this is helping a friend.</p><p>Because that’s what he is, a friend.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 7</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 7. Earth date 2018.</p><p>Begin recording</p><p>I don’t even know if I'm measuring the time right. There isn’t really a way to tell if a day has passed in space or not, I’m half guessing, half using what’s left of FRIDAY in the helmet. Kinda, using my body clock, but that’s always been shit, excuse my language, so this is probably pretty inaccurate.</p><p>We’ve got food and oxygen for about two more weeks, according to the Na’Vi Chess Master back there. She really has become a chess master. Not like, officially, but she’s beaten me, so that’s gotta count for something. I mean, I’m not the best considering paying attention when I’m not fully engrossed isn’t really my thing but I’m pretty good. She might be able to beat FRIDAY by now.</p><p>If we get back home, and we will, I’ll get them playing against each other. She’s still treating it like a battle though, which is fine, but I really want her to understand fun, she deserves it. She’s been really kind, you’d like her, kid, even if she is a bit recluse.</p><p>I’m running out of nicknames as well, there’s only so many blue people I can think of. There’s Neytiri and the other Na’Vi from Avatar and Smurfs, obviously, and Violet Beauregarde from that English Roald Dahl book and movie, y’know Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Feels like something you might have read. And then there’s just descriptors, Blue Meanie, Surprisingly Nice Ex Assassin, you know, the lot. Shortenings as well, Neb. Ula? No, that’s horrible, ignore I said that.</p><p>I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. You can’t just have…” Quiet approximating 3 seconds, laboured breathing. “Disappeared. You must be somewhere. I’m gonna find you, kid, I promise, I’m gonna bring you home. Spiderling.</p><p>Space is nice. Mostly void, partially stars, as you’d say. There’s a couple of nebulae, not the person, the intergalactic cloud sort of thing, which are pretty cool, and the view is amazing, though a bit monotonous. It’s a bit lonely here as well, staring out. We’re headed for Earth, Neb pointed out our sun and it looks just as small as everything else.</p><p>Don’t worry, we’ll get there.</p><p>Well, I guess we know what’s out there now, at least a bit. No more speculation over aliens and whether they exist, they do, and some of them are nice, some aren’t. They’re sentient, some of them, no more guessing.</p><p>I guess they don’t need Carl Sagan’s Pioneer Plaque to find us, though, they seem pretty capable of that already. Poor him, all his work for nothing. Or maybe they did find it, and that’s how they found us. I doubt it, but it’s a nice thought. I’d say I’d tell him when we got back the truth of the matter, and that he was right, and there were aliens, but he’s been dead for 22 years, so that’s not really an option. Could do a seance, tell him that way. I think I’d talk to you first though, kid. </p><p>No, I know I’d talk to you first. </p><p>I kind of am talking to you now, though you can’t hear it. I’m not quite sure when these went from normal ship’s logs to talking to you, but here we are.</p><p>I hope you forgive me, at least a little, it’s kinda my fault, this whole mess, and if it’s geographical, it;s definitely my fault for bringing you into space. I-” 1.5 seconds short breathing. “-I was going to show you the anti gravity chamber I designed, I was going to get you to play cards with me in it, just to see the logistics. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, I’m sorry I brought you to Germany, I’m sorry I ignored you for so long after. I was on life support for a month after but still. I hope I’ve made it up to you now, you know, with the proper internship with me and my odd half pseudo father thing. I don’t know if you see it that way, but I do, at least a little, kid.</p><p>There’s not much more to say, really, the ship is on course, we’re sending out distress signals, we’re gonna come back home and then we’re gonna bring you back home. </p><p>Love you, kid, hang in there, will you?</p><p>End recording.”</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Time passes oddly. In Tony’s head, when he looks back, it’ll be like a montage, a series of scenes spliced together in a movie. There will be huge chunks of time missing, spent mindlessly tinkering or staring into the void.</p><p>The moments he will remember most are the ones with Nebula. Teaching her something new or playing chess or sitting in silence and thinking. There’s something about human, or perhaps not human, but company that sticks in his mind much better than solitude. Now, from the ship, looking back there are weeks on end in his workshop he can’t remember, months even, but moments, with Pepper and Rhodey and the kid, moments stick. They might not be welcome, they might stick like a piece of gum under a table or a bullet embedded in your stomach, but they stick.</p><p>Nebula sticks, easily. She’s an interesting person to be around, and Tony can feel her opening up, trusting him more, less on guard, just comfortable. Or not just comfortable, also tense and ready for attack whenever, reserved but still, not so much as before. He’s counting it as an achievement.</p><p>He definitely counts it as an achievement when, as he sits down to eat his admittedly meagre but strangely filling rations for the day, she sits across from him, completely unprompted, and taps the chess-kind of-board with what he thinks is a hopeful gaze (he could be wrong, of course - her expressions aren't the easiest to decipher).</p><p>"You want to play?"</p><p>She nods seriously, and he grins, and lines up the makeshift pieces deftly. There must be something fascinating in the way he does this, at least for her, because every time, without fail, she watches intently, as of the small movements and the arrival of each piece at its square is going to unlock the secrets of the universe. Perhaps she's just very attentive.</p><p>They start playing, mirroring each other's moves or the complete opposite, and she looks calmer than she ever has playing. This maybe their 16th game, if he's been counting properly (Tony: 7, Nebula: 9), and she's lost the offensive fire in her eyes and has settled into attentive competitiveness, which he can mirror (not particularly well, considering his lack of great concern for the outcome of the game, but he can try, for her sake if anything).</p><p>"So, Neb, your little project, what's the sitch?"</p><p>She looks up from her bishop-provoked annoyance with a frown.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"How's your tinkering, how's it going? What're you making?"</p><p>For a moment, she doesn't respond, verbally or with an expression at all.</p><p>"It's going well."</p><p>The specifics of what is going well and how are left out, but he doesn't push it. If there's anything he's learnt in all his time as a human, though admittedly he's somewhat lacking in the social interaction aspect of such a designation, it's that pushing something is only going to make it worse. (He's learnt this the hard way.)</p><p>"And we're on good course?"</p><p>"We are headed I'm the right direction, yes."</p><p>"That's good. Just follow the yellow brick road, I guess? You can be Dorothy, I'll be the Tin Man."</p><p>"I don't understand."</p><p>He lets out a chuckle and moves his pawn to take one of hers.</p><p>"It's a Terran movie and book, I'll show it to you when we get there."</p><p>"Movie?"</p><p>She takes his second bishop with an odd satisfied noise, and he lets out a groan, moving the rook he's got left to take her remaining knight.</p><p>"It's a story, told via moving image on a screen. Like a video recording but fictional. Humans- Terrans like to watch them for entertainment."</p><p>"Quill talked about a thing called Indiana Jones that sounds like that?"</p><p>He gives an encouraging smile.</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>She makes a face, an emotion that is probably disgust, but knowing her could be anything.</p><p>"The Indiana Jones person always sounded annoying, in my opinion. Quill seemed to like him."</p><p>"Figures. I used to, but looking back he's kinda a dick."</p><p>Nebula doesn't respond, choosing instead to checkmate him with a challenging look in her eyes, as if daring him to tell her she hasn't one, which of course, he's not going to do. He groans but grins up at her from where he's resting his head on his arms in mock annoyance.</p><p>"Damn, that was quick. Good game, you play really well. Impressive."</p><p>There's always a moment of surprise after he ever compliments her, as if she's not used to it, and he supposes she isn't. If his guesses are correct then, judging by her reactions, positivity directed at her is pretty alien (thinking about it, the way he phrases that in his mind is almost ironic, really). Now though, her expressions is closer to shock than surprise.</p><p>"Uh. Thank you."</p><p>He's almost shocked at that. He's given her plenty of compliments, but this is the first time she's accepted one, instead of ignoring it, denying it, or deflecting back to him.</p><p>The corner of her mouth raises in a tentative smile and he positively beams.</p><p>He'll have to get her to do that more often.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 13</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. "Ship's Log, the Benatar, Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 13. Earth date 2018.</p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Hey, kid. There's not much to say, really.</p><p>I don't even know if my day count is right, it might be. I think I've always counted impulsively, and not just time. Did you know that I'm actually great at cars, just because I impulsively count cards? Rhodey finds it infuriating.</p><p>Still, my counting's not always accurate and my internal clock is pretty skewed, so it could only be the tenth day, or the seventeenth. You never know.</p><p>We're running out of fuel. It's okay, we're obviously in a vacuum, so we'll keep moving, but no more acceleration for the time being.</p><p>Bluebell back there says we might be able to get extra power someway, she says she'll explain when I've finished the log.</p><p>Space isn't nearly as glamorous as expected, to be honest. I mean, I bet there's some pretty cool stuff out there if you take the normal tourist route, but we haven't exactly had your run-of-the-mill space sightseeing trip. I'll ask Neb about what the rest of space is like, and report back. Maybe she can update me on all the things I missed when we got on the wrong tour spaceship. </p><p>Big mistake there, eh?" Quiet approximating 3 seconds. "I'm sorry kid, you should never have come to space. It's my fault. If we get back to Earth, we're gonna do our best to get you back, ok?" Fast, shaky breathing approximating 12 seconds. "We'll be okay, kid.</p><p>Blue Meanie's getting scarily good at chess. I think she's enjoying it? I hope she is. I'm pretty sure she'd be able to beat FRI by now, and even Jarvis if he was still here. Vision's a stretch." 2 seconds silence approximately. </p><p>"Oh God. He must have got the Stone from Vis' head. Fuck. No, no no no. God.</p><p>Okay, okay, it's okay, we can get him back, we can.</p><p>I tried to introduce Miss Beauregarde up in the front to some AC/DC by singing some and she looked decidedly unimpressed. I've assured her it's much better with the proper instrumentals and not my shit acapella. She's a much bigger fan of the Taylor Swift I've sung to her, God knows why. She's taken an odd liking to Old Yellow Bricks by the Arctic Monkeys as well for some reason, even though she has no idea who Dorothy is or what the yellow brick road is. If we ever get back, I'll make her watch the Wizard of Oz.</p><p>I'll show her that song you like. T-Shirt Weather? By Circa Waves? If I'm right? I'm pretty sure I am.</p><p>Anyway, she's calling me now for something, probably the explanation, so I'd better blast. I love you, kid, so much, remember that. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, I swear.</p><p>Hang in there, okay?</p><p>End recording.</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Nebula is impressed. Tony grasped the idea for the new engines way more easily than she'd expected and he's even offering her new ideas on technology he's never seen before today.</p><p>They sit side-by-side and work together on the wiring.</p><p>He's never as concentrated as when he's working with tech. Not playing chess, not eating, not attempting to identify the stars, not even doing those daily ship's logs he seems so obsessed with. His brow furrows in deep focus, and he's been holding a piece of cut wire between his teeth for the mast half hour. She wonders if he notices.</p><p>She's just settled into the silence and his unerring, slightly unnerving focus on the task when his voice speaks up from beside her.</p><p>"Hey, Neb, what's space like? I mean, what are other places like? My trip to space hasn't exactly been the comprehensive sightseeing guide."</p><p>She doesn't really understand what he means by a guide to seeing visible things, but the curiosity, she can. She's curious about Terra, if she's honest. He's told her plenty of things, and it sounds intriguing.</p><p>There's a part of her, most of her really, that is certain Tony is probably actually the most interesting Terran. If everybody was as interesting as him, at least how she views it, they'd all consist with the sheer level of diversity and curiosity over other human beings and their quirks. She doubts they do, and he's also one of the most interesting people she's met so far in the galaxy so she somehow doubts every Terran can live up to him.</p><p>The other tiny part of her almost hopes that they're all like him.</p><p>"What do you want to know?"</p><p>Stark smiles at the circuitry he's just finished.</p><p>"Anything you want to tell."</p><p>There's nothing she knows how to tell properly.</p><p>She's tried before, tried to talk to Rocket and tell him of things she's seen but it never comes out properly, it never captures the feeling of what it was like to be there, to see it, to experience whatever it was. Her words have never failed her yet they do, just for this.</p><p>Maybe it's another afterthought of Thanos' wonderful parenting (that's sarcasm, Tony's taught her, and she's decided she likes using it - it's difficult to pick up at first, but she's proud of her uses for it so far), she doesn't know, but it's infuriating.</p><p>"I do not think I'd be able to express it correctly."</p><p>"That doesn't matter, just give it a try. It'll be good either way."</p><p>Something about that gives her a small warm feeling somewhere in her chest she doesn't have a name for.</p><p>"Okay, I will try. Let me think."</p><p>There was one moment a few months ago, before Thanos had found her. It was on a small mountainous planet in the outer left reaches of the galaxy, in a city built into the mountain. It was pretty breathtaking, if she thinks of it objectively. Subjectively, she's seen more impressive (but terrible) things, but it still instilled a small sense of wonder.</p><p>Huge gleaming towers of silver glass reached high above the small viaduct road leading up to its gates, tall and almost ethereal, melting together into a towering masterpiece. The city walls were forged of stone, and in the stone were carved huge murals of battles for the city and the life of its inhabitants over history, both bleak and prosperous. Tall, silver doors lay open,  welcoming in the steady flow of people come to see the City of Silver Glass.</p><p>Beings from every nook and cranny in every corner of the galaxy teemed around the doors, chattering and looking up in wonder, because if these beautiful towers deserved anything, it was that.</p><p>Anything can inspire awe. Angels, monsters, hope and horror, it's all awe, either way, of the beautiful and terrible and everything that is both and neither and somewhere in between.</p><p>Wonder, though, wonder is something else. Wonder is rare, wonder is good and wonder is awe and shock and beauty and everything bundled together and she has to idea how she even knows this, but she does. And these towers of glowing silver glass deserved that, and so much more. The kind of admiration that's not love but worshipping.</p><p>She was there for intel, she remembers, on an assassin she was attempting to track down, and she walked through those huge doors and the masses and to a small bar hidden deep in the mountains, behind the shining facades.</p><p>The man she met there was tall and bulky, peering down at everybody where he stood like a rather obvious and intimidating shadow, or perhaps more accurately the creature waiting in the shadows, huge and ready to pounce, snark pulled back to reveal bloody gums.</p><p>She wasn't scared in the slightest, but then again, she's never usually scared.</p><p>(Only of her father, only of Thanos.)</p><p>She came right to him and asked straight up.</p><p>"Do you have the intel?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Do you want a drink?"</p><p>"No, I do not drink, foolish being. Who do you take me for, a tree?"</p><p>She had wanted very much to laugh at that, for she did know a tree that actually drank (though not alcohol), and that was not the comparison she would have made first if offended at being offered a drink.</p><p>The meeting had gone spectacularly badly, and had ended up with him giving her the intel then starting a brawl with the whoek bar, plus him, against her, accusing her of some far-fetched thing relating to poison. That had ended in multiple dead bodies around her and her admittedly small amount of credits being given to the bartender as compensation for the havoc.</p><p>So, she tells him of beautiful towers and much less beautiful dead bodies, and at the end he looks equal parts amazed, horrified and amused. She counts that as an achievement.</p><p>"Neb, you are actually amazing, I swear. This is the best thing."</p><p>She feels herself smile, involuntarily, and she hastily tucks it away, but he sees and returns it widely and brightly, and she wonders what he sees in her company to want it so much.</p><p>"Any other equally great and disturbing stories?"</p><p>"If you want."</p><p>He grins.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>There's been this nagging pain in her hand, for a while now, ever since Thanos tore her apart at the very seams and sewed her haphazardly back together.</p><p>There must have been something wrong. Inevitably, there was going to be. You mess with reality, reality messes with you. Taking it apart is easy, putting it back together, not so much.</p><p>Or maybe her father was just careless.</p><p>Either way, there's something wrong with her bionic hand and there's nothing she can do about it. She'd need two hands to work on it, and, given that it's her hand that requires fixing, that wouldn't really be possible. And she's not asking Tony any time soon. She's had enough not-so-great experiences with others fixing her to last a lifetime.</p><p>She doesn't tell Tony, but he notices. Maybe it's the way she holds her hand more carefully, or doesn't use it to play chess or fix things as much as she can, or even she flinches occasionally if something knocks on it. Whatever it is, he notices, and she can't decide if that's a good or bad thing.</p><p>"Is your hand hurting? Can I help with it?"</p><p>Tony Stark confuses her. He might be the first person ever who confuses her, really. People are easy to read, generally, even the tree and the raccoon, or at least to understand. Stark, however, is… strange. More than willing to help but never to ask for it. Focussed so much on tinkering and never on chess. Hurt yet kind. She's not quite sure what to do with it, if she's honest.</p><p>She ends up letting him help. It might be a bad decision, it might not, but however bad it is, she can deal with it.</p><p>It can never be as bad as Thanos taking her arm, her brain, her eye and restitching it just how he wanted, adding in his mechanics and his ideas and god she hates him. </p><p>Still, she's scared, though she'd never admit it and she's not even sure it's that. Emotions are weird and difficult.</p><p>There's certainly this underlying voice in her head that tells her to run and that he's going to hurt her and this is bad. It might be fear, she wouldn't know. Still, something like this has never bothered her before  so she holds out her arm to Tony.</p><p>Six hours later and she's fixed.</p><p>She's also shocked. She didn't know a person could be that gentle, that careful, his fingers impossibly light and steady, his eyes flicking up to her hurriedly whenever she made an involuntary noise at the pain of her arm being picked apart so intricately. He asks her if she needs to take a break, every half hour or so, and she almost rolls her eyes because of course she doesn't, does he know what she's been through?</p><p>(He probably doesn't, actually.)</p><p>It's a shock, in the least. Not in a bad way, it's just surprising; being treated with his much care and worth isn't exactly something she's familiar with. That unidentifiable warm feeling comes back again and, again, she ignores it in favour of thanking him.</p><p>She's starting to think that maybe, when this is all over and they're back, maybe she won't leave.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 17</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. "Ship's Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 17. Earth date 2018.</p><p> </p><p>Begin recording.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, kid, for the first time in a while, there's news. Neb, yesterday after my log, worked out that we don't have enough power to generate the oxygen we'd need to get from here to Earth without dying, at least not directly. Tragedy, right?</p><p> </p><p>Wrong. Instead, we're taking a detour to a much closer planet to pick up more fuel or some other power source, which, honestly, I'm not sure why I didn't think of before. But it means I get to see alien society!</p><p> </p><p>Yes, I know we've met aliens before, but that's only ever in battle and we haven't exactly talked to them much. I'm going to be able to see what life on an alien planet is like! Not just their fighting but their actual way of life, their architecture, their food, you know, the lot. I'm excited.</p><p> </p><p>I know my previous encounters with aliens haven't been the best, but Nebula's an alien and she's a good thing, so some aliens must be good, right? And Thor's technically an alien. </p><p> </p><p>Plus, not all aliens can be evil, there were the Guardians of the Galaxy minus the obnoxious human one, who were all alien as well.</p><p> </p><p>I'm more excited than I should be, I think. Still, it'll be cool to see what an alien planet that's not been destroyed is like, with actual proper society. I'll tell you everything, kiddo, don't worry.</p><p> </p><p>On the note of telling you space-y things, Neb told me about space, after I asked like I said I would. Apparently at the other end of the galaxy somewhere there's this absolutely wondrous, breathtaking city made of silver glass that people from all over the galaxy come to see. I'd like to see that, it sounds amazing.</p><p> </p><p>She also told me that while she was there she met the person she was getting intel from who was offended by being offered a drink and thought it was like being compared to a tree, which isn't the first comparison I'd chose, but whatever floats your boat, I guess.</p><p> </p><p>That, also, ended in a fight and her, being the badass she is, taking down all of them, which isn’t quite what I imagine your average experience with a city like that is, but oh well.</p><p> </p><p>Hopefully in a few days I’ll have more space stories to tell, and hopefully less… eventful than the last I was involved in. We just need more power, and perhaps a meal that’s not just space rations.</p><p> </p><p>I wonder what aliens do eat? Is it like our food? Or nicer? Worse? Poisonous?</p><p> </p><p>I’m definitely more excited about the prospect of being potentially poisoned by alien food than I should be. I wouldn’t mind if I was poisoned, I think. Would spice up the day a little, give some action. Neb would find a cure anyway, she’s good at that sort of stuff. Fixing things. That’s basically what it is, right? Humans, machines, they’re the same, both need to be fixed. Maybe not all human, maybe just me. Neb as well, I checked up her hand again today, it’s working well again, all good.</p><p> </p><p>I’d say I’d want to bring you to see space with me, but that’s a lie. I know you’d want to, I know you’d be fascinated, but I brought you into space this time, and that didn’t go all too well, did it? I’m so fucking sorry." Quiet approximating 26 seconds.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh fuck, she's fallen asleep in the cockpit, I can see her from here. I think she's convinced herself that she doesn't need to rest, or at least that she doesn't deserve to. Or maybe I was Thanos, that fucking bastard. I'm pretty sure this is the first time she's slept on the whole trip and I'm gonna be at the front of that line to square up to the ugly fuck grape.</p><p> </p><p>I'd better bring her in here, there's bunks. If she sleeps in there like that when she wakes up all her joints and works will be stiff. I don't even know how she fell asleep in that position, but I'm gonna go move her in here, without waking her up if I can, she needs the rest. I guess I gotta go, but I'll log again tomorrow, as usual.</p><p> </p><p>I’ll update you on our little space expedition, after, don’t worry and remember, I love you, kid, always. Take care, if you can.</p><p> </p><p>Hang in there, okay?</p><p> </p><p>End recording.”</p><p> </p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Turns out they’re actually millions of miles from Earth, which isn’t exactly a surprise, but Tony’s still a bit annoyed at Nebula for omitting this information, but he can’t exactly blame her. It’s hard enough to be optimistic in this situation without knowing you’re so far from your home that if it suddenly exploded and destroyed the universe you probably wouldn’t know for a few years.</p><p> </p><p>It’s fine, he knows now, but it might have been nice to know slightly sooner.</p><p> </p><p>They’re headed to a small planet called Maer, a lone planet orbiting a lone sun in the middle of nowhere. Apparently, around this sector, most of the planets are the only ones orbiting their stars, and most of them are developed, but not as technologically or architecturally advanced as other planets.</p><p> </p><p>According to her, Maer is ‘all grass and no sense' and 'horrifically old fashioned', which means it'll either be something like Midwest America or completely alien. Her descriptions aren't always the clearest, but they're interesting and it gets her talking.</p><p> </p><p>She tells him of an accidental trip to Maer where she ended up lost in a desert of grass and then fed the weirdest stuff she's ever tasted. Tony isn't sure whether that lowers or raises his expectations, if he's being honest. He's really intrigued by the food now and the thought of even her finding it weird doesn't perturb him in the slightest (though maybe his curiosity has always been way too strong for his own good).</p><p> </p><p>He dreams of something other than dust and snow and deadly blue eyes for the first time in what seems like forever, and honestly it's a relief. When he wakes, Nebula is right next to him, perhaps two feet away, staring at his sleeping form.</p><p> </p><p>He's spent enough time with her to know that she doesn't really understand the concept of privacy, which figures, given that she was raised by Thanos, but hates any contact anyway, which aren't odd things, at least to him, and both of which he doesn't mind one bit. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey, Neb. You okay?"</p><p> </p><p>She's silent for a moment, then she responds with what might be a statement but feels more like a question.</p><p> </p><p>"You are a confusing person, Tony. I do not understand you at all. It's not a problem, it is just odd."</p><p> </p><p>"Thank you?"</p><p> </p><p>She just shrugs, stands up and heads over to a drawer in the wall, before saying firmly,</p><p> </p><p>"Is your armour repaired?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yup. Good as new. Bit weaker from making a new helmet instead of using the new one but that's ok."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, we should be arriving soon. Be prepared."</p><p> </p><p>"Prepared?"</p><p> </p><p>"Have you ever been to an alien planet with actual inhabitants?"</p><p> </p><p>He pauses for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, no… I'll wing it. I'm good at that."</p><p> </p><p>The corner of her mouth quirks up but she stays silent.</p><p> </p><p>Maer, from a distance, looks uncannily like Mars, which is even more uncanny considering the similarity in name. This fact is also rather confusing, taking into thought that most of Nebula's description of Maer was complaining about the grass, and last he checked grass was definitely not the same thing as Mars' desert-y landscape, but he wouldn't put it past existence at this point, if he's being honest.</p><p> </p><p>They descend on it quickly, and what rises to meet him isn't the red sand of Mars he almost expected to see, but a huge, mass of red, moving together in small waves, and it's something his mind can't even fathom. It moves almost beautifully, and he supposes it's just as beautiful in green, but there's something about the deep colour which makes it seem to just flow. The planet isn't sand, no, nowhere near. </p><p> </p><p>The whole planet, everywhere, is covered in grass. </p><p> </p><p>Huge, rich red stalks of grass (he tries not to think of blood), seas of it, oceans of it, jungles and mazes and deserts and it's terrifying and breathtaking at the same time. It sways in the wind, lakes of crimson grass, fields and fields, like some entity in and of itself.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders momentarily if he's going to find everything in space so breathtaking, or if he's just used to the wonders of Earth already (or if it's just bland in comparison).</p><p> </p><p>As they get even closer, the town below them grows from a smudge to a suburban sprawl of bungalows and pale roads. The whole town is surrounded by intricate crop circles that seem to be some sort of protection for the town, or perhaps just a symbolic thing.</p><p> </p><p>(A thought crosses his mind: is this where the  crop circles on Earth come from and do they act as any sort of protection?)(A second thought crosses his mind: when he and Pete jokingly made that crop circle in Mama Rhodes' farm a few months ago, did they accidentally perform some sort of protective ritual?)(A third thought crosses his mind: even if it did, it didn't do much good, did it?)</p><p> </p><p>As it turns out, the crop circles form a landing pad which they settle the Benatar onto, flanked by stalks of red grass which reach as tall as the ship itself. Nebula stands at the door as he checks the nanites once over then retracts them back into the arc reactor, and then they're out.</p><p> </p><p>He's expecting it to be anticlimactic, if expecting something to be anticlimactic doesn't automatically defeat the object of the sentiment, but it isn't, really. The grass looms over them, Maer's sun beams bright above and it feels like he's stepping out into a whole new world, which, of course, he is.</p><p> </p><p>The air is easier to breathe than expected. In fact, it feels so breathable, if air being more breathable is even a thing.</p><p> </p><p>"Um, Neb? The air?"</p><p> </p><p>She seems to understand what he's getting at and says without turning her head towards him,</p><p> </p><p>"Higher oxygen content. Feels different, but it would eventually kill a human, if exposed to for, say, a couple of months or so."</p><p> </p><p>"Nice to know. Good thing we're not staying here too long, then."</p><p> </p><p>She utters a sound of agreement but doesn't fully respond, striding forward through a line of the crop circle and into a wide, clear opening.</p><p> </p><p>This is the town they saw from above, but instead from within, and it's slightly different to how he expected, but not so much. For one, the floor is white, like chalk, without a break, save for the occasional stray piece of wood, assorted bottles or the odd footprint. It's vaguely startling. The houses are much like human stilted bungalows, with verandas and wooden railings, except that from what he can see they have no sources of light other than their sun.</p><p> </p><p>A diurnal society then, he supposes, or perhaps a species with enhanced sight. He'll ask Nebula when she's not striding purposefully forward as if on a mission, occasionally glancing at him as if to check he's not wandered off to make some alien friends (he wouldn't put it past himself, to be honest).</p><p> </p><p>The place Nebula leads him to is on the other side of town, a half-collapsing bungalow which Tony could probably spend years in without complaint. Across the floor are scattered every tool he could imagine, and in the centre of the room, a short, squat only vaguely humanoid being with pale green skin pulled tight over knitting bones that fit together in seemingly impossible ways is sat tinkering with a huge glowing contraption.</p><p> </p><p>Nebula steps forward and says something in a language Tony doesn't understand. They look up, expression of confusion morphing into recognition and possibly nervousness? He's not quite sure how to interpret the contortions of the person's facial area. He doesn't look much different from the others they've seen on the town, but it's still odd to see up close.</p><p> </p><p>He guesses he'd better get used to aliens.</p><p> </p><p>Some sort of understanding seems to pass between Nebula and the mechanic and they lead her to the back of the bungalow, which opens out onto a storage room. They pull out 3 cylindrical canisters, Nebula passes him a couple of tokens, a few more words are exchanged, then she's leaving again, only checking momentarily over her shoulder to make sure he's following.</p><p> </p><p>They're a good twenty paces from the bungalow when the tension in Nebula's shoulder relaxes and she turns to him.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry, Tony. I have not had the best of experiences with them in the past, but they're trustworthy, at least business-wise."</p><p> </p><p>He raises an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>"I actually have no idea what you're apologising for. You just got us more power? That's good, right, there's no need to apologise."</p><p> </p><p>"I-"</p><p> </p><p>"Nope. No apologising. Alien food instead? I think I need to get the whole… alien experience, if you know what I mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure, Stark, the 'alien experience'."</p><p>"Yes, now where would you recommend? I'll only take the best."</p><p>"There's a rubbish heap down the road if you're homesick."</p><p>Tony stops, whirling round to her with a mock-hurt expression.</p><p>"Nebula Cyborg-Smurf! How dare you."</p><p>"Sorry?" She shrugs with a small smile and Tony's protective side does a small victory dance somewhere in his (now artificial) sternum.</p><p>"No, no don't be. I feel like a proud father, Neb, you made a joke! A proper joke! I think my ego can handle it. Don't push it though."</p><p>Nebula's small smile doesn't falter; it's more a quirk of the lips, actually, but it's a start.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 22</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 22. Earth date 2018.</p>
<p>Begin recording.</p>
<p>Hey kid. </p>
<p>This week has been more eventful, definitely. Yesterday we stopped off on a planet called Angulr. I told Neb it sounded like angler, as in angler fish, and what followed was an odd conversation about angler fish which steered itself to confusion of the dependence of male angler fish on the females. You know, how they’re all much tinier and live by sucking the blood of the females? I don’t know if you know, and I kinda wish I could say I have no idea why I know that, but documentaries are good to watch after nightmares, and old Davie Attenborough’s voice is oddly relaxing and a bit comforting. Just a tip if you ever have nightmares. I really hope you don’t, you don’t deserve that shit. </p>
<p>God, I hope Sir Davie’s survived the snip-snap, I don’t know what I’d do without his never-ending production of more and more nature documentaries for that British channel. BBC. Is it odd that I miss him? He’s like, the epitome of Britain. Him and Alan Turing. And Sherlock Holmes. I think I’d make a good Sherlock Holmes. Doctor Magic-Hands would too, I’d bet.</p>
<p>Sorry, I digress. Right, so we went to Angulr. And it, disappointingly, wasn’t full of angler fish, but a man can’t have all he wants, so universe, I’ll let that slide. Along with all the other shit you’ve put me through, paired with your old buddy fate. I don’t really believe in fate, but if it were a being, I’d be squaring up by now.</p>
<p>Angulr was way too hot for its own good. Not sandy desert hot, but thick, muggy hot, where you can feel every single particle of water in the air on your skin and it’s harder to breathe than it is just to collapse in a pile of sweat in the really weird really wide, short grass they had there. Then take that and multiply it by at least seventeen. All the buildings in the town we went to were made of metal, which kind of figures given the humidity. That much of it can’t be good for wood or clay. The windows were generic glass, I’m pretty sure, but you couldn’t really see due to the water droplets condensed on them. To be honest, I don’t know why they’d even have them if that’s the inevitable result, but I guess not everyone’s a genius. It is devastatingly obvious, but still, you wouldn’t have to be a genius to figure that one out.</p>
<p>Ol’ Blueberry told me the people of Angulr have lungs that thrive off the humidity and I don’t know whether I should feel guilty about really wanting to acquire a specimen or replica to run tests and stuff on. I wouldn’t kill anyone, maybe just a bit of grave-robbing.” Quiet approximating 12 seconds. A muffled voice can be heard in the background. “Ok, so Neb’s just told me that they dissolve their dead instead of burying them, so I guess that’s not an option. Apparently they believe the contrast between life and death is very stark and should be respected. I’m not so sure. It’s a bit blurry, the line there, in my opinion. And experience.</p>
<p>We got some better lasting fuel for a trip to the next pitstop. Neb’s finished mapping out our route back home, so that’s good. We’re coming home, kid, I promise you. We’ll get home, we’ll get you back home, don’t worry kid. I’m not leaving you behind, never.</p>
<p>Anyway, we had lunch there and the food was interesting. Not like Maer, with it’s bland-as-fuck, unidentifiable nourishment mass that served as nothing more than a disappointment and a means to hide the vaguely concerning rust of the plate it was served on (let’s hope I don’t get space tetanus). No, the food there was fascinating, seriously. They brought it in on these metal plates, devoid of rust (no tetanus there, thank god) and it moved. Of its own accord. I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised, given the things I’ve seen, but the sensation of something wriggling on my oesophagus is actually indescribable. I am literally lost. For. Words. It wasn’t amazing, there’s just no provision of adjectives in the English, or any other that I know, language. And I know a lot of languages.</p>
<p>It was pretty nice food, kinda fruity? I guess they probably grow a lot of mango-like things, given the climate. I don’t know much about agriculture past an intern who came up a few years ago and told me something about glowing vegetables in Kansas. At this rate though, given my amount of interest in space food, I’ll probably end up writing a space food travel guide or becoming some sort of space cook. It’s not the worst job I can think of.</p>
<p>That was it, really. There isn’t really much else to report, kid, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more. I wish I told you more. Granted, I told you a lot of things, but there’s still so much to tell, so much I’d want you to hear, if you’re willing to listen. Fuck. Kid, I’m gonna get you back, I will, I will, I will. I’m not quite sure what I’d do if I didn’t, so I’m going to, kiddo, I love you and I’m going to get you back. Try and fucking stop me, universe. The fucking rip-off grape can kiss my ass, I’m getting my kid back whether Thanos and his band of cronies likes it or not, you here me, Fate you fucking bastard?</p>
<p>Sorry for the outburst, you’ve experienced enough anger for a thousand lifetimes, you don’t deserve any more.</p>
<p>You know Neb has the same music taste as you? I’ve sung Circa Waves’ stuff for her if we have nothing to do or she’s sad or stressed and she loves it. A bit of Bombay Bicycle Club, Alvvays, Vampire Weekend, you know, your lot. They’re not too bad. Ramones is better, have you heard Poison Heart? Goddamn that’s some sinister shit in the guise of a slightly upbeat song. Ignorance is Bliss is good, y’know. Reminds me of after the whole Accords and Siberia and shit, when it was me and you and Pep and Rhodey and Hap and FRI and the bots and Vis and we painted the living room in the tower multicolour then me and you went up to the roof and shouted jokes at the stars. We’d probably both had way too much sugar and ginger ale. Do you remember? I felt alive then, like the song says. The most alive I’ve ever felt, I think. When we get back, nothing’s ever matching again at home, you hear me? We’re gonna have colours, okay? Need more of those in my life. We could paint the corridor floors like the yellow brick road, if you want. I’d do anything you want, kiddo, anything.</p>
<p>Anyway, back to Nebula’s taste in music being horrifically similar to yours, after we’re all back, I’m taking you both to a concert. You chose, bring Neb, and I’ll obviously pay for everything and tag along to watch you enjoy yourselves and to enjoy myself more than I’d like to admit. Remember that concert you took me to in Harlem, in that tiny venue in the back of a record shop? It could be like that, if you want, or completely different. Anything you want, kid, anything.</p>
<p>Well, I’d better get going now, Neb is saying we’re coming up on the next destination, just for some properly good food this time. It’s an odd speckled orange and blue planet, from what I can see from here. Lakes or something. I’ll keep you updated, as if I’m gonna let you miss anything. So, until tomorrow, adieu. I love you, kid, so, so much.</p>
<p>Hang in there, okay?</p>
<p>End recording.”</p>
<p>Static.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’re coming up on Younhlirgh now, their fourth pitstop and a planet with a horrific name Nebula had to spend at least an hour learning how to pronounce and horrifically bright green oceans reeking of god-knows-what that makes what’s left of her nostrils protest violently. It’s almost a shock that the population is still alive, considering that the stinking, violently green seas are their only source of water. There’s the snow that covers every other inch of the planet but they’ve learnt by now, the hard way, to leave that very much undisturbed.</p>
<p>They wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, not at all.</p>
<p>Tony sleeps right up until when they arrive, mumbling and shaking in his sleep, distressed, and Nebula would like nothing more than to wake him from whatever horrific thing he's experiencing (she suspects Rogers), but if she doesn't pay attention to the controls they'll crash and die, and she'd rather they save that for a time when Tony's not actually aboard.</p>
<p>He wakes up once she's landed on a landing patch out of town, with, like all the landing pads, floating walkways in the direction of the town, so as not to disturb the snow and risk another experience like the last. Groggily, he takes her proffered hand and hauls himself up, shrugging on a coat. He sends her a grateful smile that she's not sure of  the provocation of, but that gives her a small warm feeling in her chest nonetheless. </p>
<p>She presses open the airlock and then the doors, and they open onto a boardwalk and a vast expanse of snow, a wooden town suspended in the distance, still not bothering the snow, in fear, both of what would happen and of knowing what happens. The last time the snow was disturbed was so long ago it's been forgotten what the actual outcome of messing with the snow would be, except that it is definitely a Bad Thing. They're scared of whatever it is that would happen, but they're also scared of knowing what the consequences of upsetting the snow would be.</p>
<p>She thinks it's a bit ridiculous really.</p>
<p>Tony, beside her, freezes. Not literally, the snow isn't cold enough or close enough, but every single muscle she knows of in the human body tenses in his and he blanches. He stays silent and still for a moment, but his frozen pose breaks as his hands start to shake, the rest of him following, and he collapses down on a bench like an amateur cross-country skier who's just had to traverse 6000 miles in search of food only to find that the only seven-eleven for miles is closed so they can repaint the third cubicle in the men's bathroom. Though of course she doesn't know that that is the best comparison to make, given that she has never been in such a situation, and neither has anybody she is even vaguely acquainted with. She probably doesn't even know what cross-country skiing is, let alone seven-eleven, but that is of no consequence.</p>
<p>For now, Tony is sitting, head in one hand, shaking at the sight of snow. She knows why, and she wants to kill Rogers almost as much as she wants to kill Thanos, and that's saying something. This reaction is… severe, for something as mundane as snow, and she can't imagine what it could be like for Tony. Not being able to go outside and play in the snow with his son he talks to everyday on the recording device in his helmet like she’s heard humans love to do, especially. She definitely wants to tap Rogers on the cheek, hard and with a chunk of rock, repeatedly.</p>
<p>"Y'know, Neb, I might sit this one out, if that's all fine and dandy. You okay on your own? Sorry, I can come with if you want." He's staring at his hands as they shake, and seems almost sad. Nebula can't fathom why, but she understands.</p>
<p>"I will be okay. Do not exert yourself too much, Tony. That includes mentally." He looks up, and his face is leaking water and again, she can't fathom why, but there's an odd understanding, to some extent.</p>
<p>"I- I'm- okay, right, okay, I'll… do that. Neb, you're great. Thank you. Now go do your badass alien stuff while I try and make these stupid muscles and these stupid thoughts calm down."</p>
<p>He's talking as he usually does now, confidently and skipping over whatever he doesn't want to discuss, but Nebula, though humans are a source of permanent bafflement to her, can hear the panic in his voice. </p>
<p>She doesn't touch him, but she stands close for a moment, and offers a light lift of the corner of her mouth, which he returns shakily.</p>
<p>"Be careful, Tony."</p>
<p>"I make no promises. Good luck, and please come back to me in as much of one piece as you can manage, promise?"</p>
<p>"Fine."</p>
<p>She leaves, though reluctantly, and stands listening to the airlock and then main doors hiss closed behind her. The cold hits her without reaction, as usual. She's learnt not to feel the pain of temperature, and anyway, a little cold never hurt her. The boardwalk is sturdy under her feet and stretching far out in front of her, all the way to a town dominating the horizon, curling around itself in the distance.</p>
<p>She ignores the possibilities and impossibilities of the snow beneath her feet and heads for the town.</p>
<p>As towns rarely are, the town is much more impressive close up than it is from a distance. Towns usually, after being viewed as, if not beautiful, acceptable from a distance, bring disappointment in the form of litter-strewn streets and obnoxious townspeople. This town, however, is not the formless wooden mass seen from the landing pad, but beautifully carved wooden structures, some carved into each other and the boardwalk as one, others their own masterpiece, all coming together to make the town gleam sleek and wonderful at a thousands different angles.</p>
<p>The town is obviously reeling from the aftershocks of the Snap. </p>
<p>In every bar she sees, people sit mourning, weeping and sobbing or sitting silently and nursing a beer that's been sitting for a while and will continue sitting for a while more, cradled in hands that will no longer touch those close to them. There are the people who walk around normally, or normally enough for five-legged beings, and there are the people who walk around hollow-eyed and sagging with sorrow.</p>
<p>Nebula, in her mind, berates herself for the use of alliteration. She's never liked it much.</p>
<p>She's tempted to duck into a shop carved beautifully into something resembling a highland cow, selling varying types and uses of leather, but she reminds herself: one task, get the oxygen cell.</p>
<p>It's surprisingly easy. She meets a small, unassuming seller in greasy (five-legged) overalls and offers a bundle credits, in return for which he pulls out an HCSU (highly compressed storage unit) filled with oxygen, and an energy bar, for no apparent reason, then disappears (not literally, but it’s as good as). She turns back towards the door, tucking the HCSU safely into her pocket, but she can’t see it. She’s pretty sure it was that way, just ahead, but there’s so many people now, milling around like irritating bees with even more irritating voices.</p>
<p>The bar is large, busy, stretched over two storeys with a balcony and a staircase revealing the second, swimming with people laughing raucously and gesturing with over-filled glasses and tankards. There’s always been, at least since she learnt it was a good idea to have, a good sense of space that she has, an awareness of her surroundings and their shapes, advantages and disadvantages, and it doesn’t fail her now; she knows where the door is, she just can’t see it.</p>
<p>She begins her trek to the exit, pressing past tables and pushing past groups of people gathered in her way. Faces turn to her in annoyance, just glaring for a second before turning back to whatever conversation they were having before she mildly interrupted, until one guy, a huge hulking species she used to know the name of but can’t remember anymore, turns to toss her a glare and stops in shock. She does, as well - she didn’t know she was at all recognisable, but apparently this man she’s never seen in her life knows who she is. And he looks outraged about it too.</p>
<p>“You. You’re Thanos’ daughter.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t respond, just inches towards the door, judging the situation. He looks irate, and the few who’ve heard him seem to be too. This could get very ugly very quickly.</p>
<p>Involuntarily, her mind settles on her promise to Tony for a second, for reasons she can’t fathom in the slightest, but then the man is shouting, louder than she’s known a voice could, and every single head in the bar is turned towards her.</p>
<p>“You! Thanos’ daughter, come back here, ya little bastard. You’ll pay for what your beloved father’s done, I swear.”</p>
<p>Ten seconds and she’s in the middle of a fight, horribly outnumbered and almost holding her own. Almost.</p>
<p>Fists rain down on her and she grabs them, falling bodies but there's too many of them and not enough of her. Their anger is almost palpable. She  knows she should be able to take them down easily, but there's a part of her that says in a small voice that she deserves this, that this is justice and right.</p>
<p>She lets her body be battered by these strangers on a planet she'd only ever hears the name of before today, and she listens to their shouts and whatever's beyond that, underneath it all. It's something she didn't notice before, almost like breathing, the deep inhaling and exhaling of some huge, calm creature, barely audible but very much there, under the surface.</p>
<p>She listens to the rise and fall of them for a moment, but it's slowly being drowned out, and not by voices, but by the sound of some sort of machine, powering forwards towards them. She curls in on herself and stares at the grain of the wooden boardwalk.</p>
<p>An attacker is thrown off, all of a sudden, and then another, and another, picked off, thrown off of her by some force with devastating precision. The sound is loud now, metallic with small whirring noises and the underlying surge of power.</p>
<p>She turns, palms against the floor, to see the shining red and gold of an Iron Man suit.</p>
<p>It is… breathtaking. She's seen his suit before, sure, but then it was battered and beaten and half torn apart. Here, it's sleek and shiny and oddly beautiful, hovering threateningly above those groaning on the ground and the crowd, who've retreated somewhat to the edge of the boardwalk. He lands, impressively elegant for a man in a metal suit, anyways in a metallic voice similar to his own, but also very different,</p>
<p>"Bastards, stay away from her." The townspeople seem to get the message perfectly well as the eye slit of the helmet glares at them.</p>
<p>"Hey, Neb. I thought you promised you wouldn't get hurt?"</p>
<p>"I said I would try."</p>
<p>"Eh- Oh shit."</p>
<p>She turns to where he’s staring at to see, to her annoyance, the mob back again, this time with proper weapons, blasters and guns and god knows what that huge glowing thing the tiny dude in the back has is. There’s a cry of something very definitely anti-Thanos and they come charging towards them. Stark catches her eye, as much as is possible while wearing a helmet like his, and she nods.</p>
<p>He gathers her up by the armpits, lifting her under her arms in a very uncomfortable pose that she’ll be able to forgive for the price of not dying via these rightly furious idiots. </p>
<p>They shoot at him but the bullets and blasts bounce off his armour, if they even hit him at all, and Nebula laughs, for the first time, a sound fueled by adrenaline and joy and self-hatred and it’s an odd combination but it feels good. To laugh, to laugh and laugh and laugh.</p>
<p>She can hear Stark too, laughing, she can’t tell whether out of his own joy or a remnant of hers, but together, together they make a beautiful sound. The parameters of beauty, she thinks, are to tight, because they encompass only things that bring joy to the eyes, or the ears, or the tongue or the nose or the skin and this, this definitely does not bring joy to the ears. It’s a harsh sound really, not because the reasons are at all harsh, or mean, but purely because there hasn’t been anything like this in so long that their throats, their mouths, their tongues don’t know how to express it, can’t remember, or never knew how to laugh. So the sound is not the kindest on the ears but it is so beautiful, so, so beautiful, in a way she cannot explain.</p>
<p>She feels like redefining beautiful, as they soar over wood and snow.There’s not peace, but everything feels ok.</p>
<p>It’s one bullet that does it, hits the suit and clatters off, and she watches as it falls, almost as if seeing it in slow motion, knowing that something is about to go horrifically wrong. The bullet doesn’t hit the boardwalk.</p>
<p>The bullet hits the snow.</p>
<p>All hell breaks loose, but in more of a formation as if the breaking of hell has only managed to make a crack, and each last part of hell is slowly pouring out, slowly widening and widening the hole, pushing at the edges until the wall breaks and chaos, literal chaos, pours forth. The snow shifts, ever so slightly, then still, then shifts again, more this time.</p>
<p>Slowly, achingly slowly, a body rises from the snow, huge, towering thousands of feet in front of them. It is humanoid, in a way many species claim to be but aren’t, but looking closer, past the vast, vague, pale blue form, she can see that it’s skin isn’t smooth but thousands of tiny arms, poised, and between them millions of eyes. Its face would be humanoid, if it weren’t for the four larger eyes and two giant tusks jutting up from its jaw. </p>
<p>It stands, still, for a moment, and Nebula can hear screams from below as they all stand, shocked. She wonders, for a moment, why they aren’t running, or moving, but she sees that the monster’s furious gaze isn’t focussed on the townspeople but on Tony. She refrains from gulping in impromptu fear. It’s not an emotion she’s felt often before and she’d much rather never feel it again, thank you very much.</p>
<p>The creature scrutinises them, and then says in a booming though melodious voice,</p>
<p>“Who are you that dare disturb my slumber?”</p>
<p>She can tell almost painfully that Tony’s fighting the urge to make a sarcastic comment, and only just succeeding.</p>
<p>“My name is Tony Stark,” He says confidently, though she can hear his voice shake slightly, “Iron Man, Mechanic, Genius, a Pseudo-Prince on my planet, Earth’s best defender, Creator of Living Intelligence. Pleased to make your acquaintance, and I offer my sincerest apologies for disturbing your slumber.”</p>
<p>The creature looks, to say it plainly, completely and utterly taken aback.</p>
<p>Nebula is as well, if she’s telling the truth. She’s seen him as he is on the ship, joking, kind, vulnerable, compassionate, but never like this, confident, polite, not even flinching in the face of a creature as terrifying as this. She supposes he’s probably seen, and experienced, worse, and the thought makes her vaguely sick.</p>
<p>“And, great being, who are you that I am so honoured to encounter?”</p>
<p>This does absolutely nothing to quell the creature's shock. If anything, it adds to it, and she wonders if this creature has ever been spoken to politely like this before. She sure hadn’t, before she met him. He seems to have this sort of effect on people, she’s realised.</p>
<p>“I am Amadeus, feared creature of the snow and of Younhlirgh, former King, ruler of my people, who live under the snow, Younhlirgh’s best defender. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Tony Stark.”</p>
<p>She can tell Tony’s once again fighting to keep himself from making a sarcastic comment, or perhaps a Mozart pun. (He spent a few hours the other day explaining the plot of Amadeus to her, and explaining Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s life and work, for no apparent reason but that she was tired and needed a distraction.) She also notices with a level of bitterness that Amadeus pronounces the name of the planet absolutely perfectly.</p>
<p>There’s a vague air of uncertainty and shock from below, and from herself, provided by the pure unexpectedness of Amadeus’ reaction and the sheer inability to comprehend what may happen next.</p>
<p>“Do you have any wishes, great Amadeus, before we depart from your planet?”</p>
<p>Amadeus seems to think for a second.</p>
<p>“Come with me, dear child, and bring your companion, I must show you something. Then you may leave.”</p>
<p>Tony pauses.</p>
<p>“First, a request, your Greatness?”</p>
<p>“Speak it.”</p>
<p>“Leave the good people of this planet to their peace if they ever disturb your slumber again, and they will leave you to yours.”</p>
<p>“I can accept this. I must apologise for the last encounter, and the start of this one, I was rather angered by my awakening.”</p>
<p>She can hear Tony breathe a sigh of relief, and his death grip on her arms loosens slightly, though not enough for her to feel unsafe up here. She realises with absolute clarity that, oddly, she trusts him, completely. It’s unexpected, and shocks her slightly.</p>
<p>“Thank you, gracious ruler, for your kindness. Please, lead the way.”</p>
<p>Amadeus sinks beneath the snow, as if a lift in carrying him far beneath the surface of the planet, and Tony and Nebula follow. She doesn’t know where she’s going, or what’s about to happen, but if she does know one thing, it’s that she trusts the man who carries her far beneath the boardwalks to where a whole new species lie, and that he, and only he, is where she feels safe. They’ll be okay, she knows it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 24</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 24. Earth date 2018.</p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Hey, kid. Okay, so I apologise for not being able to log yesterday, there was… a lot going on.</p><p>We went to a planet two days ago, called Younhlirgh. I hope I’ve pronounced it correctly, I don’t quite think I have. Amadeus is the only person I met who can pronounce it properly. Not even Neb can, and she’s like, the smartest thing since me and you, kid. Hold your horses, I know you’re gonna ask who Amadeus is. I’ll get to that, but I can give you one hint. It’s not Mozart.</p><p>Basically, Younhlirgh is this planet on the other side of the galaxy from Terra-slash-Earth, where we just left, which is basically either violently green and pungent sees or snow. And you know how I am with snow, cause of, you know. Remember that Christmas, I couldn’t even come outside? I’m so fucking sorry, kid.</p><p>So yeah, I was supposed to go with dearest Bluebell to the town, but I didn’t, for obvious reasons. A bit of background, every single town, city, village or even house and road on the planet are raised off the ground on levitating boardwalks because, well, last time anyone touched the snow something absolutely devastating and terrible happened, though before we came nobody knew what the hell it was. So Neb went to the boardwalk town, got the oxygen canister we needed successfully, but was then attacked by people who recognised her as the Daughter of Thanos, murderer of half their population, which sucks because she’s like, the purest being ever, other than you.</p><p>That sent an emergency signal to my suit, so I decided to ignore the snow and my incoming panic attack because they deserve to be ignored, the fuckers, and blasted off. Not to brag, but I blasted off at least fifty people from her. She’s a badass assassin but there were literally hundreds of them, and she was getting beaten up. After that, people decided to retreat, and I, being a naive idiot, thought they’d gone for good, but then they came back with guns, and ships, and so the balance shifted. No, no ships, I just wanted the quote, but the guns were very real. So I had to fly, carrying Nebula. Now, here’s where it gets interesting. Sorry if I’m really bad at explaining stuff, by the way. I’m not the best with narratives. I’m pretty sure my explanation of the plot of Amadeus the movie sailed right over Smurfette’s head.</p><p>So, it was all fine and dandy and we were doing just great flying away when one bullet bounced off my suit and instead on hitting the boardwalk, hit the snow, which was great and awakened a millenia-old creature from the snow, who I introduced myself to, and who introduced himself as Amadeus, rulers of his species, who it turns out live under the snow of the planet at varying depths. I made him promise not to hurt any of the people from Younhlirgh again, which was cool and they seemed happy about that, which is good.</p><p>So yeah, he took us to his underground community thingy where loads of his species, giant humanoid blue people with four eyes and extra human-sized arms and legs all over their skin, live, and then he showed us around, which was nice.</p><p>I apologise for my bad storytelling, I’m not an artist, I’ll leave that to Scary Girl. I don’t know, it’s easier to tell things that haven’t happened to me - telling Neb the whole plot of Harry Potter was much easier than this, and I have absolutely no idea why. I just wanted you to know what happened. I want you to know everything, Spiderling, everything. You deserve that. Maybe one day I’ll publish a book of my travels and subject the world to my awful narration, who knows?</p><p>Maybe Neb could help and write her half of the story. You could as well, I bet, you always help. Remember that evening after Ross’ court trial and I was just completely drained? And you built that blanket fort and literally grabbed me with one hand by the collar and dragged me out of the workshop upstairs and we watched Star Wars and hurled popcorn at the screen every time Palpatine came on? You helped then kid, you helped so many times and I’m so fucking grateful. I hope I’ve helped you.</p><p>I don’t know, I’m not good at helping people. I tend to do the opposite really. I’ll try better kid, I-” Silence approximating 1.3 seconds, laboured breathing. Next speech seems to be spoken through tears. “I promise I’ll do better, I promise I’ll try better, we’ll get you back and I promise I’ll be better for you. Love you, kid.</p><p>Hang in there, okay?</p><p>End recording.”</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He reaches, like he has done so many times and will do so many times more, to the edge of the helmet and flicks off the recording device. He sighs, thumbs massaging at his temples as he places his head in his hands. There’s not really any point in recording these things, if he’s being honest with himself. There’s not much really to log, and the kid’s not going to hear them, because he’s gone, gone, dusted away like the rest but Tony’s still here, drifting through space with an alien he’s somehow befriended and very much, unfairly, alive. </p><p>A voice somewhere in his brain that sounds like a suspicious mix of Pepper and Rhodey tells him it’s survivor’s guilt, and of course he knows that, but it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty.</p><p>A voice jolts him out of his thoughts, strangely soft for who’s speaking it, and more concerned than he’s ever heard her speak.</p><p>“Stark? Are you alright?”</p><p>“Oh, hey Neb. Yeah, I’m good. All good.”</p><p>“Doesn’t look much like good to me.”</p><p>He stares him down, and eventually, he smiles and pats the seat next to him.</p><p>“Fine, fine, you win. Chess?”</p><p>She doesn’t notice that he’s once again diverted the conversation, and instead sets up the board methodically, almost mechanically (understandable, given she’s at least a third machine), with that single-minded focus that often throws Tony completely off. He recognises it himself, and he’s not sure how to feel about that; not the likening to Nebula but the fact that it’s almost slightly disturbing to watch a concentration so honed and attentive that everything else seems silenced.</p><p>The kid had a focus slightly like that - as concentrated, but he was always moving, energetic, buzzing with life and Tony misses him so much it hurts. He doesn’t say anything, he stays quiet and watches the blue of Nebula’s fingers cross the board, tries not to think of smaller, inquisitive fingers working beside him.</p><p>They play for a while, Tony this time succeeding to not lose in the first ten minutes, and after a while, as always, Nebula starts to talk. Every time, there’s the small intermission, between the start of the game and the inevitable conversation, where Tony won’t push, won’t intrude on her silence unless she does. Maybe a few years ago he would have, but he’s changed now, and he’s not sure if it’s for the better.</p><p>“You came for me. Back there.”</p><p>“Of course. It’s not like I’m gonna leave you behind.”</p><p>She looks surprised, and Tony feels an strangely overwhelming sense of odd type of grief at that. He, for not the first time, probably more like the millionth, he has a compelling desire to slam Thanos’ hideous face into a concrete wall to the beat of Eye of the Tiger.</p><p>“I wouldn’t blame you.” She speaks quietly. She always speaks quietly, but this is even quieter than normal, so quiet that if he hadn’t been expecting something of the kind he might not have understood her words.</p><p>“I would. The attack sent a signal to the suit and so I came. Not gonna let you get abandoned on some random planet with a bunch of homicidal idiots now am I?”</p><p>She looks up at him with that small raise of the lips and he responds with a beam in full force.</p><p>“You came despite the snow.”</p><p>“Eh, I’ve let that beat me down for too long, and you’re more important. Anyway, all’s well that ends well.”</p><p>“Not necessarily.”</p><p>He looks up at her with a grin and a roll of the eyes, moving his bishop to take one of her pawns, which turns out to be a terrible idea when she promptly takes that with her knight. He is, for not the first time on this weird space-roadtrip, glad that they’re playing chess with normal pieces and not conscious ones from say, Harry Potter, considering the battering his pieces go through daily against Nebula’s.</p><p>“It’s a saying. An idiom, if you will.”</p><p>“What is an idiom?”</p><p>This is another thing he wants very much to murder Thanos for. For all Nebula knows of how to kill people slowly and painfully and how to survive in dire conditions, she knows nothing of normal society and enjoyment and everything she deserves but doesn’t have. Yet, he reminds himself, yet. He’s going to show her everything, everything he can, even fuckibng Sesame Street if possible.</p><p>“You want an explanation?”</p><p>“That would be nice.”</p><p>He explains, gladly.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>So apparently he’s known.</p><p>No, not just known, Known. He knows, rationally, that there shouldn’t be a capital letter for Known unless it’s at the start of a sentence, but it feels like it should. Just to add some weight, show the difference between just being known and being Known. People know you, like normal people, or you are Known, they recognise you not because they know who you are but because they know what you’ve done.</p><p>Of course, Tony Stark is Known on Earth-slash-Terra, that’s a given, but here? Here he’s nobody, here he’s just another soul floating through the void (mostly, though it’s partially the stars he can’t reach but longs to reach out and touch), just another lost traveller. Except, it turns out this is a complete and utter lie and there’s a recording of him standing up to Amadeus on the Galactic Web and people have seen it. Which is the sort of thing he’s used to, of course, but not when the people who shyly come up to him as he sits in a bar with his companion are centaur-like aliens with two heads.</p><p>He supposes he’d better get used to it.</p><p>Rewind to three hours earlier, and he’s being led off the ship by Nebula, who mocks bows to him in a vaguely butler-like pose (he’s still reminded painfully of Edwin Jarvis), and saying sarcastically,</p><p>“Welcome to Narvva. Home of the best pancakes in the world, according to some idiot I met in a cage fighting club a few years ago.”</p><p>Tony snorts and nudges her in the side as he passes. She’s gotten so much better at sarcasm in the past few days and honestly, he’s proud of her. The corner of her mouth raises slightly and they walk towards the city. </p><p>This is the first city they’ve been too, and Tony is both intimidated and gripped by the burning curiosity he’s sure is going to end up killing him someday. Ahead, skyscrapers rise out of nowhere, large and gleaming in the light of the suns, vehicles swoop in and out of them in loops and grids and swirls and Tony thinks involuntarily that it’s terribly Star Wars-esque. </p><p>It’s even more breathtaking up close. The skyscrapers reach thousands of feet into the sky, taller than any he’s ever seen before, and he has an odd urge to climb one just to see what the view would be like at night. (Probably even more breathtaking than the view of New York from the Tower.) High above him, small ships move at speeds from what he imagines as leisurely strolling to the desperate sprinting of almost missing a bus or, in his case, being late for a board meeting with Pepper glaring at him in his mind's eye. He looks up in an almost childish wonder, unlike any he’s ever experienced on Earth (he’s not yet been to Wakanda though), and let’s Nebula drag him through the streets.</p><p>They’re not strictly here for food or fuel or anything, just pancakes sounded nice and the ship would be easier to patch up a bit in an atmosphere. And thus, they're wandering the streets of Narvva, Maveth, staring up in amazement at the admittedly un-Pepper-like though still hugely impressive architecture. (At least, he is - he's not quite sure what it would take to amaze Nebula, or if it's even possible.)</p><p>Buildings aside, the people are fascinating. He knows it's probably rude to stare and wonder at people passing on the street, but to be fair, he's a Terran who's never before seen an alien (other than Neb and the Guardians) who's not been trying to kill him.</p><p>The population here seems to be very… varied. By that, he means there's a humanoid plus horns walking down the street talking to a creature who is somehow both gelatinous and scaly, and not quite a shapeless mass, but closer to that than humanoid. A person who seems more to be lots of different tiny floating  organisms walks next to an elf-looking being with ridges in mesmerising patterns across their skin and, from Tony's limited knowledge of classifying alien species, a skeleton with blue skin. There are quite a few people who look close to Terrans, but with a few odd quirks or so, and the rest vary from similar enough to more akin to the scaly gelatinous being, tentacles and tusks and feathers and fun and skin and bones. It’s wondrous, he thinks, he knows.</p><p>There are so many languages, dialects flowing in one ear and out the other, smooth or stuttered and guttural or from somewhere altogether apart from the body. Tantalising smells drift from shopfronts overflowing with plants and ornaments and tech and people, a few smells slightly too pungent for his taste, but it all sinks into the same, mesmerising experience. If this is alien, then he never wants anything to be human again.</p><p>He *wants*.</p><p>He wants to learn everything, every language, every concept, every theorem, every verse and song, he wants to see everything, feel everything, experience everything. This, *this*, is the insatiable curiosity he’s been warned against, and he can’t find anything bad in it at all, and he wonders why it was ever discouraged in the first place. It makes him feel alive.</p><p>The alive-ness is somewhat interrupted by Nebula grabbing his arm and pulling into one of the shop fronts that beckon, and in a moment he’s not just a spectator, but part of this, part of life and all of what must constitute as normal but feels so wondrous.</p><p>Tony’s in a kind of daze still, as she sits him down across from her on a small table, flags down what seems to be one of the waiters, and says something in a dialect he can’t understand but wants to, so much. It takes a tap on the arm and a baffled look from Nebula to break him out of it, and he grins, wide and open at her. He’s rewarded with a small smile back, bigger this time, more joyful. He wonders if she feels the same sort of childish elation as he and doubts it.</p><p>“Neb, I need you to teach me.”</p><p>“I need to teach you to do what?”</p><p>“Languages, Neb, I want to learn to speak to people. Please.”</p><p>She looks at him, head tilted like some demented, blue owl. It’s a moment, a moment of absorbing his surroundings even further, before she speaks.</p><p>“It is not easy to learn multiple languages.”</p><p>“Try me. I learnt Norwegian in one evening in Bergen, on a sugar high of brunost ice cream.”</p><p>A look of confusion passes over her face, and her head tilts further, if possible.</p><p>“Brunost? That is a planet, not an ice cream.”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t know that. To my knowledge, brunost is a Norwegian caramelised cheese, named so because brun means brown, as the cheese is, and ost means cheese. Didn’t realise it was a planet. It’s a surprisingly nice ice cream flavor though, vaguely smoky.”</p><p>The corner of Nebula’s mouth quirks up again, and she looks like she’s about to say something sarcastic, but is interrupted by one of the probably-waiters, who taps silently on her should, two plates held out in one hand. Their face looks more like the approximation of alien faces the media gives, all huge oval eyes and pointed chin, but their skin is iridescent, shining like an oil slick, and it’s difficult to look too long. He nods to them in thanks, and they seem satisfied, slinking off in a manner not many can. He’s probably only seen it in, perhaps, foxes, and Natasha, though that’s a subject he’d rather not think too much of.</p><p>The plates hold a stack of deep red pancakes, surprisingly similar in shape and texture to the pancakes back home on Terra, but they move slightly, not so much as if they are alive but like if they didn’t they wouldn’t exactly be the same. It is almost imperceptible, the movement, but it is there and he surprises himself by not being at all perturbed by it.</p><p>He watches Nebula carefully. He’s been watching her more the past few days, gouging her reactions to things, trying to see how her mind works, what choices she makes and the extent she’s willing to share herself via expressions. It’s probably slightly intrusive, but she doesn’t seem to mind and he’s too curious for his own good. His findings so far have been… limited.</p><p>At the pancakes, she does not react much, but there’s a hint of curiosity and perhaps… hope? He’s not naturally good and telling what people want, how they feel, but years of training and years of being hounded by the media then facing them with his stone-cold artifices have honed his senses and his perception for expectations and emotion to almost perfect.</p><p>He’d spent years after Obadiah training himself to see betrayal and manipulation from a mile off, but apparently he didn’t see it under his own nose until it was too late.</p><p>His eyes meet with Nebula and they share a look that seems to be in agreement, and he picks up a piece of cutlery (something between a knife and a spoon), and they both take a bite of pancake.</p><p>The result is a hell of a surprise.</p><p>It doesn’t taste at all like a pancake, at least, not like the ones on Terra. He’s not quite sure how to describe what it does taste like - it’s sweet, but not sickly sweet, with a sort of oaty taste plus mint, and it tastes, somehow, also like someone has stuffed a supernova inside a snack minus the deadly fire (it’s more a metaphorical comparison, but he decides he could eat these for hours). He looks up from his plate and back and Nebula, and her eyes are shining (as his almost definitely are as well). </p><p>The pancakes don’t last long.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>They’re waiting for another plate, talking quietly about which languages to learn first, when the two aforementioned centaur-like beings (plus the extra heads) come somewhat tentatively up to their table. The first and more confident one seems to be older - they’re bulkier and taller, and their faces are more defined, like the sharper edges of a teenager’s face compared to a child’s. The second is smaller, hide slightly rumpled, and peering eagerly, albeit nervously, up at him where he sits on a stool by the window. </p><p>Neither speak, yet, and after a moment of feeling rather uncomfortable, he says, as he does,</p><p>“Hey, guys.”</p><p>They don’t seem to understand, all four heads tilted in confusion. Tony looks back at Nebula and raises an eyebrow. She retaliates with a smirk and a shrug.</p><p>The older centaur-person steps forward, one set of eyes focussed on them, one on who Tony assumes is their sibling, and says something in a language that he doesn’t understand. The words feel like perhaps another Terran language, except they are more sung than spoken, falling smoothly out of two mouths simultaneously in a simple tune that seems to convey the meaning of the phrase as much as the words themselves do.</p><p>There’s an apology which he knows they won’t understand on the tip of his tongue, when Nebula rests a hand on his arm.</p><p>“They ask if you’re the person who stood up to a god.”</p><p>“A god?”</p><p>“Amadeus.”</p><p>He stares at Nebula for a moment. He hadn’t had any idea Amadeus was a god. He’d thought he was just a giant, just another mortal species. Not a species of deities.</p><p>“Tell them that I am.”</p><p>She says something back to the centaur people, in the same language, though out of her mouth it seems odd, less fluent and tuneful. Either way, they seem to understand.</p><p>Nebula interprets the response, as the younger looks up in awe.</p><p>“They say they are amazed, and they would like to know your name.”</p><p>“Tell them.”</p><p>She speaks again, in the language, but his name is in the same tone as always, yet now it seems dull, monotone, when put next to this beautiful language of another world. The two-headed centaurs exchange looks, and make an attempt at what he imagines is his name, mouth and vocal chords fitting around the name he now finds rather boring.</p><p>“Tuhnee Starkh,” they say, both the younger and older, then another flowing phrase.</p><p>“Tony Stark,” Nebula says, “Equal of gods.”</p><p>Tony doesn’t know what to think. He’s had plenty of impressive names before, names way above his station. Merchant of Death, Earth’s Greatest Defender. Never like this, though, never like this, never seeing him as impressive for who he is. For his weapons, yes, both those which killed and those which protected, but never for himself, for Tony Stark, the man who’s stood up to gods and titans and has not backed down. He doesn’t know whether to correct them, tell them he’s not all that great, or feel proud.</p><p>“Ask them their names.”</p><p>She responds with names in the language, and he tries to imitate, but it comes out all wrong. It’s not silken or smooth like their words, but broken, his own voice sounding hoarse in comparison. He must have done something right, though, as both beam, and the younger speaks for the first time, faster than the elder and smiling brightly. Oddly, Tony is reminded of Ned, his kid’s best friend, and he tries to quash some heavy feeling that descends onto his chest.</p><p>“They say they’re honoured to meet you.”</p><p>“Neb, um, can you tell them that I’m honoured to meet them also, and that they’ve really brightened my day.”</p><p>She does, or at least he trusts that she does, and they beam even brighter. They nod to him as they leave, in what seems to be, if he interprets it correctly, a sign of respect, and he nods back, because that is all he knows to do, and there’s an odd urge in him to give these seemingly-kids all he can. To live up to their high expectation. He wonders if he could, or if he’d let them down.</p><p>He hopes he could, he really does.</p><p>“Well, well,” Nebula says to him, small smile returned once again, “Equal to gods. That’s quite a title.”</p><p>“Thanks, Neb, for you know, interpreting. And seeing as I see you as an equal, that means you’re also equal to gods.”</p><p>She stares at him as if he’s said something with so much more weight than just the convoluted logic he’s spewing, and he shrugs. Perhaps it does hold more weight than he intended it to. His words seem to do that.</p><p>“What? It’s true. You deserve the title as much as me, you talked to Amadeus like an equal as well.”</p><p>She’s staring at him in a different way now, no longer incredulity but hope, perhaps. Then the smile returns, wider than he’s ever seen her smile before, and he grins back. He doesn’t remark on the shine in her eyes.</p><p>“How did they know anyway?”</p><p>“There’s a video, up on the Galactic Web. One of the townspeople took it. And another by one of Amadeus’ people. So yeah, people know you.”</p><p>“And you.”</p><p>“Eh.”</p><p>They do, though, and he wants her to know it. He doesn’t say anything, and lets her eat her second plate of pancakes. He has time, he can show her.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 25</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 25. Earth date 2018.</p>
<p>Begin recording.</p>
<p>Hey, kid. This is my first log from not-in-space, so hello from Narvva on the planet of Maveth. It’s just past midnight and we’ve finished working on the parts of the ship that were broken by Amadeus emerging and spewing snow and rocks and stuff everywhere, and when Neb’s just done fixing up the last thing and I’m done with this, we’re going to go into Narvva and check some stuff out. </p>
<p>We’re gonna be here for a few more days, apparently, while we reprogram the ship and get rid of some bug, so we’d better get used to the city. </p>
<p>Kid, the pancakes here are the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Except Mama Rhodes’ pecan pie, but it’s impossible to beat that, so there’s no point even trying. I’d bring some back for you to try when we’ve got you back but it’ll probably be off by then. You’ll just have to rely on my wonderful description to imagine it. It’s like, oaty and minty and sweet, and it feels like an explosion of light in your mouth, if you get what I mean. It made Neb smile as well, which is always good.</p>
<p>The city itself is actually amazing. The skyscrapers are almost like ours but different as well, in shapes recognisable but also alien, almost defying physics. The glass is odd as well, darker than ours, probably because of the sand or whatever else they use to make it. I’d love to show you, kid, the skyscrapers rising out of nothing, towering high, swarming with life. There’s so many people, so many different species, it’s unimaginable, it’s amazing. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is. </p>
<p>Neb’s going to teach me everything, all their languages. We’ve formed a list, of most to least relevant. There’s a language, a bit like Basic in Star Wars, called Allspeak. Thor had this charm called Allspeak which allowed him to understand every language, but this is different. This is an actual language. All species with humanoid vocal chords speak it, so I’m starting there, then moving on to others. I’m gonna learn them all. I am.</p>
<p>I know I can. Remember that trip to Bergen in Norway we went on? I learnt Norwegian in one night, remember. Took you four days, and you were mock-jealous. We had a bet going on of who could learn it quicker and I did, so you had to buy me lunch, but I ended up buying it because I’m the billionaire and food in Norway is too expensive for its own good. It was from that fish market, remember, and you couldn’t stand the smell but you got used to it after a while. We had some sort of salmon dish that was absolutely delicious and you joked about moving there for the food. Do you remember?</p>
<p>That’s rhetorical, obviously.</p>
<p>I wish you were here, so much, kiddo. I could show you everything, tell you everything, we could explore the universe.” Silence approximating 4 seconds, shaky breathing. “I miss you, Spiderling.</p>
<p>Hey, something cool happened today. Or technically yesterday. Apparently there’s a video of me standing up to Amadeus on this thing called the Galactic Web, which I’m assuming is a bit like the internet, some online thing.” Silence from talker, approximating 3 seconds. Muffled speaking can be heard in the background. “Oh, ok, so it’s not like the internet. Neb says it’s the biggest digital newspaper for the galaxy, so I suppose it’s even wider than I thought. Well, kid, I’m famous. Not just Earth-slash-Terra for me anymore. Can’t ever escape it, can I?</p>
<p>So we were sitting in the pancake shop, because we of course had to try the local delicacy as the first thing we did, and these two people came up to us. They were like centaurs but with two heads, and they looked like kids, one about teenaged and the other younger. I might be wrong, though, I don’t know how the species’ aging works.</p>
<p>They called me Equal to Gods, kid. I- I don’t know. I’ve done some pretty terrible things. Ok, a lot of very terrible things. You should take the title. Here, I bequeath it to you. You’ve made mistakes, but you’re the best thing, Pete, and nobody’s perfect. Take Zeus. He was a fucking dick. You could do way better than him.</p>
<p>Someone else called me that as well, a humanoid sans eyes and with about sixty small horns as various points on their skin. Somehow, without eyes, they recognised me, and apparently the name’s spread. Who knew? I guess that’s me now. </p>
<p>I don’t deserve it. I didn’t even know Amadeus was a god, so the element of fear isn’t there, and I’m nowhere near a good enough person to be a god. And I’m just a normal human, mortal and with a body that’s one day going to die, and rot, and then be gone altogether.</p>
<p>See? The arguments are really stacking up for you to take it. You’re the most good person I can think of and you’re not just a normal human. You’re Spiderling. And I don’t know if you’re mortal or if you’ll live longer, but you deserve to be known as equal to gods way more than I do. Hell, Nebula deserves it more than I do. Maybe you can share it. If you share a title between two people, does it stay one title or become two, do you think? It’s like the argument of questioning whether cutting a sandwich in half makes one or two sandwiches. Or breaking a piece of chocolate in half makes one or two pieces of chocolate. I think there’s enough title there for you both to have it.</p>
<p>Maybe I could leave it in my will, for when I inevitably die? Can you leave a title in a will? Dear ol’ Dad left Stark Industries to me, so something must work. That and the trust issues, though that was less legal.</p>
<p>I hope I’ve not hurt you, as a pseudo-dad. I don’t know if you see me that way at all, but I see you as a pseudo-son. I was so scared, kid, you know that? When you first started interning with me and we got closer, I was so fucking scared I was going to hurt you beyond repair. Like I hurt Rhodey, with his paralysis, and Pepper with her nightmares, and Happy with his paranoia and Vis with his vulnerability to the world. I hope I haven’t, kid, I really do.</p>
<p>I miss them so fucking much. I don’t want to know if they’ve survived the Snap. I could probably get home quicker, but I don’t want to know. I don’t want them to be gone.” Silence approximating 2 seconds, a gasp. “Fuck. Vis, Vis must be dead. Thanos snapped, he got the stone, so Vis must be dead.” Silence approximating 12 seconds, shaky breathing. “I hope it didn’t hurt.</p>
<p>I’m gonna get you back, I’m gonna get him back, I’m gonna get you all back, ok? Neb’s calling, I have to go, but I love you, and I’m gonna get you back.</p>
<p>Just hang in there, okay?</p>
<p>End recording.”</p>
<p>Static.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nebula is impressed. It’s not an uncommon emotion for her when faced with Tony Stark, if she’s being honest. He’s just learnt Allspeak in 4 hours of fixing a ship and 2 hours of being sat in this cafe on the high in a skyscraper, surrounded by plants almost bursting out of their pots, and you can very definitely, without a doubt, colour her impressed.</p>
<p>To go into more depth about the whole situation, she’s also impressed that he’s managed to finish learning the language in the last two hours whilst also goggling over the frankly breathtaking view of Narvva from above and eating those delicious pancakes again.</p>
<p>He finishes his second plate and raises his head with a smile, which she returns, albeit tentatively. She’s been smiling more often now, like she’s seen her sister do around Quill and the rest of her family. It’s an approximation of it at least. The rise of her lips, the way she tries to let emotion through in it. She hopes it’s showing him, he really does. It feels good, as well, warm and comforting; she knows it’s not as much as his, wide and shining and bright, but she hopes it’s enough. Tony seems to think it is.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Neb.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for what?”</p>
<p>He looks at her with an expression of incredulity, which is slightly put off by the red crumbs littering his chin.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, teaching me a whole new language?”</p>
<p>“It’s not a problem. And it means I can talk to you in Allspeak instead of English. I prefer it.”</p>
<p>For some reason, he looks confused. Or perhaps it’s offended. She hasn’t quite worked out the difference in expression. Either way, he frowns and tilts his head at her, before saying,</p>
<p>“You should have told me earlier, then you could have taught me and you wouldn’t have had to speak English.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t a problem. You didn’t ask.”</p>
<p>His frown deepens, and he does that thing he does occasionally, when, she’s surmised, he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands, rubbing his wrists in turn. It’s different from when he’s thinking. That comes along with an odd clicking and clapping pattern he sometimes repeats when he’s not really realised he’s fidgeting at all.</p>
<p>“Blue, you don’t have to wait for me to bring up something if you want it. Just ask for it. It’s not a problem.”</p>
<p>“I-” She’s confused. With her father, it was never correct to ask for things. He gave them, and you were grateful. Gratefulness- gratefulness was imperative. There was no choice. She had to be grateful, she must. Tony’s told her that’s wrong, and it’s hard believing it. He always gave what he wanted and she was always, always, grateful. Because she had to be. </p>
<p>Requests weren’t requested, and neither would they have been accepted. “Ok.”</p>
<p>Tony seems satisfied with that, and he offers one of his smaller, more emotional smiles, turning back to the glowing skyline. His smile softens into something like sadness, mixed with wonder. She’s learnt the two are not mutually exclusive, not at all. </p>
<p>The ship finished, they’d spent a while exploring the city, just as lively and bustling at night, if not more, species Nebula knew and those few she didn’t mingling under the stars and the glass roofs of the skyscrapers. They’d seen a market and Tony had bugged her until she’d agreed to let them go, but only after he’d eaten (for the first time in 8 hours - he tells her he’s spent longer without eating, much longer, but she doesn’t want to risk anything happening). So they’d ended up here, with more plates of pancakes, and spent the last two hours learning (and teaching, on her part) the language of the universe. It’s not the worst thing she’s ever done (closer to the best).</p>
<p>She guesses the market is all the immediate future holds, so she’s surprised when, once they’re out the door, Tony grabs her hand and leads her eagerly up a flight of stairs she wouldn’t have seen if he hadn’t dragged her up them. There’s more of them, not tiled like the others, but old metal, and their footsteps ring out as they spiral upwards and upwards. At some point, Tony lets go of her hand in favour of pulling myself up the stairs with the handrail, and she finds herself missing the warmth of his palm, oddly. </p>
<p>Up and up they climb, and she suspects his legs are starting to get tired by the time they reach the top. He stands, panting, for a moment, in the small room they’ve come upon, lit by a single flickering light and lined with various boxes of switches and wires that look so rusty she wouldn’t touch them with a sword. He grins up at her once he’s caught his breath slightly, and swings the door open, mock-bowing like some of her father’s servants used to, onto what has to be one of the most breathtaking sights she’s ever seen.</p>
<p>Below them, the city stretches out in a glimmering landscape of light and life, glowing windows and streetlamps shining in what would otherwise be darkness, but has now transformed into something else altogether, alive and wondrous. Tony runs eagerly to the edge, and there’s not a handrail but she’s not really concerned, given his proficiency with flying, and the fact that that would be in the least hypocritical, as she’s now standing with him, toeing the edge of the roof, staring down at the people below.</p>
<p>Streets, lit, run like circuit wires through the city, between skyscrapers, and ships like fireflies follow their pattern high above. Tony takes in a sharp breath, and she looks over to see that he’s crying, silently. She’s always thought of it as people’s faces leaking, but she’s reliably informed that it’s a sign of sadness. It’s never happened to her, though, but when has she ever felt sad - her sister’s death is the first and only, if she lies to herself. If she doesn’t, if she admits to herself what’s real, it’s so much more often, if she can interpret her emotions correctly (she can’t always - she can’t often).</p>
<p>He’s smiling as well, though somewhat sadly, and he drags a hand over his eyes, but a stray tear still drops, far from his face and down onto the street. She feels sorry for whoever it lands on and their fears that either the sky has started to fall on their head or that rain is going to ruin their evening, or improve it, depending on your viewpoint.</p>
<p>“Like the view?” He talks in Allspeak, and Nebula feels a surge of gratefulness and something warm in her chest, and smiles.</p>
<p>“It’s acceptable.”</p>
<p>He lets out a short, choked-off laugh, as his usually are, as if since the Snap he’s almost forgotten how.</p>
<p>“Only acceptable? Nebula Cyborg-Smurf, apologise at once?”</p>
<p>“Apologise to who?”</p>
<p>“The city, obviously.”</p>
<p>He grins at her, watery but very much there, and she lets out a sound, she’s not sure what for, but it rises in her chest with her amusement and it’s choked off, like his laugh. He ignores it and her confusion.</p>
<p>“Ok. City, I apologise. Your view is very beautiful and I am sorry.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t respond how she thought he would though, swapping amusement for blatant astonishment and something that seems akin to… pride? She shoots a questioning look to him, and he grins at her, again.</p>
<p>“You laughed, Neb.”</p>
<p>She laughed? She laughed. It felt good, she thinks, and she doesn’t again, less awkward this time, and he hugs her.</p>
<p>They stand on the edge of the city and on top of the world, arms around each other, and they laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nebula decides, within a few minutes of entering the market, that she would happily spend years here, lost in the crowd, surrounded by scents and sounds and sights so colourful, so vibrant, so chaotic and wonderful she doesn’t know where to turn and she had absolutely no problem with that. People surround her, picking cloths from stalls, garments from carpeted tables, ornaments from the hands of vendors, objects from under roofs of coloured canvas or corrugated metal. </p>
<p>A laughing person pushes past her, and then another, and she turns to Tony, who grins right back at her, and they dive right in. Neither of them have any money, he because he never had any in the first place and she because what she has they’ll need for other things, but they still weave in and out of the stalls in the hollowed-out building, stalls that line the floor of the building under the cafes and bars that line the walls, railed paths thin in front of their shopfronts. </p>
<p>Tony spends a while engrossed in a stall full of books, talking eagerly in his new-found Allspeak with the vendor. Nebula stays with him, inspecting the intricately carved knives in the next-door stall. There’s one she likes particularly, one of bone, body carved in swirls that are somehow also jagged, with a handle of turquoise cloth. The blade is sharp; smooth and clean in the top half and serrated at the bottom, and Nebula would love something like that. There’s not the money to spare though. Perhaps she can come back some time, or find another of its kind.</p>
<p>She movies on subconsciously to another stall, one selling huge swathes of cloth that moves of its own accords, rippling slightly without a gust of wind in sight. It’s only after a few minutes of inspecting the fabric and asking the shopkeeper of its origins, when she realises she’s left Tony at the stall, turns back around, only to see Tony disappearing into the crowd with a small wave, swallowed by a mass of people. </p>
<p>She’s not concerned. He knows where the ship is, and he’s competent enough to get back. He won’t drink, for reasons he doesn’t explain, and he knows enough to be fine here. There won’t be a problem, and she turns back to the cloth with a roll of her eyes, as the shopkeeper explains that the carpet itself does not move, but each thread on it’s own, in synchronization with all the others, like a flock of birds or a shoal of fish.</p>
<p>He’ll return.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And return he does, spilling out of the light of the city just as Nebula emerges from the ship and her nap to find and tell him he needs to sleep. The suns are rising by now, though barely, casting a soft orange light across the few lingering clouds and nothing more.</p>
<p>He’s smiling, neck swathed in a floaty scarf that glows ever so slightly with a gentle blue light. He comes up to her, and as soon as she’s within hearing distance, he starts apologising profusely, which is what she both did not expect at all and what she knew would happen when he sunk without her into the crowd.</p>
<p>“Oh my god Neb, I’m so sorry I left you, I didn’t mean to, I just saw some really cool tech and really had to take a look and you seemed ok with it. I won’t do it again, I promise.”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes and lets him inside.</p>
<p>“Idiot. You do not need to apologise. I had no problem with it, and you can do what you want. I also saw some interesting things, so it is ok.”</p>
<p>“Ok, ok, sorry.” He sits down on the seat with a smile, and gestures for her to sit down with him. She does so obligingly, staring half at him, in all his slightly shell-shocked and smiling wonder, half at his scarf. It rests around his shoulders comfortably, emitting its very dim but still noticeable light, fabric not too thick but not too light either. It looks wonderful.</p>
<p>“Um, I got you something,” He says nervously, and rustles through a satchel he seems to have acquired as well. After a moment, he pulls out another scarf just like his, and holds it out with a tentative and hopeful smile. “So we can be matching.”</p>
<p>She takes it, and her hands shake slightly, for reasons she can’t fathom. They’ve never shaken before, but then again, nobody’s ever been kind enough to gift her something before, or wanted her to be at all like them.</p>
<p>The cloth is soft, moves over her flesh hand silkily, and she just wants to run her fingers through it until it wears right through. It bathes her hands in that very faint yet still present blue light, and for several long moments, she can’t do anything but stare at it. The moments pass, but not until Tony takes her hands and lifts the scarf over her head, settling it circling her neck. It’s not a rectangular strip of fabric, like some of the scarfs she saw at the market, but joined at the end in a circle that sits perfectly over her neck and shoulders.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know what to say. Or she can’t speak. Or she can’t quite remember how to get her vocal chords to form words, throat choked up, for some reason. So, as a substitute for words, she looks up at him and smiles wider than she ever has, pouring all of her unintelligible emotion into it.</p>
<p>He smiles right back, faced lit slightly by his scarf.</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“No problem, ‘s the least I could do after everything you’ve done for me.”</p>
<p>“It’s the first gift I have ever gotten. I- Thank you, Tony.”</p>
<p>Tony furrows his brow.</p>
<p>“The first gift you’ve ever gotten? We’ve gotta do something about that now, don’t we.”</p>
<p>Nebula’s not quite sure what to think of that, let alone say.</p>
<p>“Uh, where did you get the money, though? Because last time I checked you didn’t have any.”</p>
<p>He grins, fingering the cloth around his neck, and his eyes flick down in what she thinks is slight embarrassment, though he seems to find the story amusing.</p>
<p>“It’s a long story, but I ended up in some bar somewhere, didn’t drink, but I got in a bet with this guy and won a couple hundred, and bought these two things.”</p>
<p>“What bet?”</p>
<p>“He didn’t think I could get out of his janitor’s closet in five minutes when locked in. I got out in four. Used the wiring in the fire alarm to knock out all the electricity for a few seconds, which is also controlled by electricity, and got out. I think he was pretty shocked.”</p>
<p>Nebula is too, but doesn’t comment on it, instead remarking about his quick fingers and thanking him again. She’s sure he has a sort of knack for instilling surprise and wonder in people, and it’s going to get him far, further than already.</p>
<p>“Quite a few of them seemed to know who I was already, so I guess my Amadeus video got out pretty far. They’re calling me Tony Stark, Equal of Gods, which I admit is a snappy title, but still. No quite sure I deserve it. Got out of the janitor’s cupboard either way.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t say anything, not as he stands up and settles into his bunk, not as he falls asleep, but she knows he does deserve it.</p>
<p>She hopes one day she could deserve how highly he thinks of her, as well.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 33</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Earth-slash-Terra Day 33. Earth date 2018.</p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Hi. We’re back on track now, after the short stay on D’reyin, which I’m glad was that quick because I don’t think I could have survived any longer with how dry it was. Even the air felt brittle. Parched and dying. Fun all round.</p><p>You’d expect sand or something from a place that dry, but it was all salt flats, and you couldn’t see anything but sun and sky and salt for miles. If we’d gotten lost out there we’d never have gotten back, there’s no sense of direction, no way of knowing where you are but the horizon.</p><p>The people there say there are ghosts that live on the salt flats, ghosts of people who’ve attempted to cross them without guidance or assistance and who died, dried up and without hope, no knowledge of how far they were from civilisation. Apparently they haunt them, calling out for water and food and help, rambling about the line of the horizon and the horrors of the sun. </p><p>I don’t know, I think they were exaggerating a bit. They were telling this story around a candle in a bar after all, trying to beat my retelling of the Shining in levels of terrifying, so they must’ve had to. Remember when we watched it? You were terrified, wouldn’t raise your eyes from the shoulder of my hoodie. Rhodey used to taunt me about being scared of it at MIT, but I’m not anymore. I’m not really scared of any horror movies anymore, kid, if I’m being honest. Or jumpscares or anything. Probably a combination of horrific trauma and the bots’ ridiculous pranks.</p><p>What a wonderful pairing.</p><p>So yeah, me and Neb were in this bar, she’d told some horrific story of her childhood, I’d retold the Shining and those guys were trying to figure out something more terrifying than either of those things. The ghosts sound cool though, I would've liked to meet one. Perhaps I could befriend it. You would, kid, you’re friendly to anything that moves, I swear. </p><p>Don’t worry, I didn’t drink at all at the bar. Nothing alcoholic or the like. I’m keeping my promise, kid.</p><p>Our wonderful bar companions were the species of this planet, and they all look like they’ve melted slightly due to the sun, which is kind of perturbing. All saggy like a failed souffle. Thick-skinned as well, not metaphorically but physically - they’ve got callouses to rival violinists, from all the salt mining and being out in the sun. They seemed to like me. Still sticking with that ridiculous title. Equal of Gods. As I’ve said before, you’re free to it any time.</p><p>You know how I said I miss the rain? Well, not for long. I’ve been looking at the galactic map we picked up in Narvva and there’s a planet coming up with some messed-up water cycle which means it’s permanently raining. Everywhere. I can’t imagine it’s very pleasant for any of the inhabitants, but I guess they’re used to it. Like we’re used to winters and shitty humans being shitty.</p><p>There’s another planet we’re coming up to, one that sounds a bit like Mars but more inhabitable. All red rock and deserts. I guess we’ll see.</p><p>I’m kinda excited. Neb’s worked out our route is taking us past this place called Nidavellir, where Thor’s hammer was made, and apparently the hammer-making equipment is broken, so I’m gonna have a shot at fixing it. That’s what I do. I’ll tell you all about it, of course I will, kiddo.</p><p>You know how much I miss you? I almost bought this book on Maveth for you, but you’re not here and I just… can’t. I know I’m getting all sappy and I’m probably breaking into hives right about now. You know how much you’ve done for me, kid? You’re fucking everything, you know? Everything. And hell be damned if I’m not going to get you back. Wait, hell’s already damned. Never mind. I’ll be damned- no, I’m also damned. Blueberries be damned. There you go, the highest of promises.</p><p>I’m gonna get you back, kay? Promise on the stars. They’re like, my best friends now.</p><p>I love you, kid, and if you forget that I’ll come and kick your ass into the next millennium. I swear, how does your heart fit in your body? It feels like mine can’t right now and I just love you. You love everything, how does it fit? I’m so fucking glad I’m a part of that though, I am.</p><p>Hang in there, okay?</p><p>End recording.”</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Throughout his admittedly short time in space, Tony Stark has come to realise that the Snap has affected a lot of different places in a lot of different ways. He suspects it’s something that’ll happen on Earth, and it’s probably normal, but it’s almost disconcerting being on one planet one day, where everybody mourns, and another the next where they seem to have move on with only a slight sadness, as if the lives of the lost are something to be celebrated and mourned, but moved on from. The gaps are not at all pronounced, or they are gaping pits in the very construct of everything these people have ever known, or, usually, somewhere in between.</p><p>But he’s never encountered anywhere like this.</p><p>They touch down, Nebula shakes him awake gently, and they pull on jackets, scarves, and walk out down to the planet, as they have done several times before, and will do many, many more. </p><p>Stretched out before them is an expanse of red sand, red rock, red cliffs, and clear blue sky. A town, Mytiil lies far below, nestled between mountains of gargantuan size, red and looming, jagged peaks cast in sharp contrast to the deep blue behind. From up here amongst the rocks and shrubs, Tony can see small figures walking along its streets, chatting and laughing and whatever else normal life consists of here. It varies from planet to planet, he’s learnt, he’s experienced (and he’d like to experience it again, and again, and again).</p><p>The town is laid out like an amphitheatre, streets in circles, houses all facing into a large, open square where the cobbles shine a glittering red. He shares another glance with Nebula. </p><p>That’s another step forward in their relationship. They’ve started to share glances with each other, understanding passing easier than speech, and it is both wonderful and reminds Tony painfully of Peter. It’s a good thing though, he thinks, a good thing. Nebula nods and more understanding passes between them with a small smile, exchanged like stories or the scarves or the hot chocolates Nebula somehow made amazingly the other week when they were on Gdrodd, in that tiny cabin with the cold and as many blankets as they could find wrapped tightly around them. It feels like the understanding he has with Peter, or with Rhodey, but also different. His heart gives a small pang and he metaphorically glares down at it in comfort (which he knows is an oxymoron but can’t quite bring himself to care).</p><p>They make it down to the town, and Tony realises that whatever he thought the people were doing, he was very wrong.</p><p>Nobody is laughing, or chatting at all cheerfully, nobody is going about their daily lives either, unless sitting around in what looks like varying levels of despair, drinking and leaning heavily on each other as they talk quietly and sadly is what is considered normal here, which he is doubtful of. The figures walking the streets are not grinning as they joke to their friends, but walking solemnly between buildings, voices quiet, if at all brought to ear.</p><p>There isn't a moment when he doesn’t understand. He knows immediately what, no, who, this is for, because he feels it, every day and all the time, for a kid drifting in the wind on a faraway planet. This is the remnants of the Snap. It is, like all the planets where they held the joyful remembrance services he attended with a wistful smile and the planets where the funeral seems to have overtaken some people completely, another retelling of the saem story, in a different form.</p><p>Nebula casts him a concerned and slightly confused glance, but he nods and presses forward. The square in the centre is almost eerily silent, people sitting at tables lining the edges glaring at them as they pass. In the centre stands a huge fountain, but it’s not running and looks like it hasn’t for years.</p><p>They move through the somewhat awkward silence and end up in what seems to be somewhere between a cafe and a bar, and take two (non-alcoholic, he’s not breaking his promise now) drinks from the solemn bartender. </p><p>They sit inside. The silence in here is still heavy, but it doesn’t hold such a weight as outside, so they stay. Nebula eyes him over the glass, and when she speaks, it’s quiet so as not to disturb the mourning.</p><p>“This is odd,” she whispers matter-of-factly, and he nods mutely.</p><p>“I feel like I want to help these people but goddammit I don’t know how,” he says after a while, and the look she gives him is something akin to surprise. “I mean, they-” He’s cut off by a loud shout from outside in a language he doesn’t understand. Another voice responds, a deeper one but slightly quieter, in what he assumes is the same language. It’s almost a shock to the ears.</p><p>They come to another silent decision and head outside, right into what appears to be a bar brawl, expect it’s, as described, outside, and the two involved, surrounded by people staring, seem to be consumed by both grief and anger, which are not expressions he’s seen combined in a bar brawl before. There’s always a first.</p><p>Nebula nudges him in the side.</p><p>“They’re arguing about one being privileged because he, the blue one, only lost one person in the Snap, and that was an aunt.”</p><p>“I- right.”</p><p>She gives him a look that clearly says, be careful, because of course she knows he’s going to try and do something about it and end up in trouble somehow.</p><p>The two beings continue to fight, pale blue skin against a colour much like Donald Trump but with small v-shaped marks all over it. They’re both huge, and there’s no way he’s going to survive breaking it up and no way he’s bringing out the suit for this. So, instead, he does something incredibly stupid but effective.</p><p>“Shut up!” He shouts in Allspeak, raising his voice as much as he can. He hopes it doesn’t shock the ears of those around too much, he doubts they’ve heard much loud sound for a while. It’s a very dangerous and idiotic idea, but it seems to work, because the two stop fighting and look up at him from the ground in confusion. He’s surrounded now, by people staring at him, one filming. He leaves himself resigned to this being on the Galactic Web before the day is out.</p><p>“Stop fighting. Look, some of us may have lost more or less than others in what happened, but we’ve all lost something, okay? You lost a brother and a sister and a daughter, you lost an aunt. I- I lost my kid. It doesn’t matter who we’ve lost, but we’ve lost people and that’s what matters. People, we should be fighting Thanos, we should be fighting our own sadness as corny as that sounds, we should be fighting with each other, not against each other. We’ve all lost, ok? So just stop. Work together for heavens’ sake. What we need now isn’t more fighting, we need alliance and brotherhood and love and all that crap. So cut it out. Don’t get more people hurt.” The two fighters, and everyone in the circle, hell, everyone in the square, is staring at him. The one person with the camera is still filming. He hopes he’s done a good job, because he’s been in the media for too long not to know that that message isn’t just going to the people here but everyone around the galaxy, news format. He hopes it does some good.</p><p>Nebula’s staring at him, eyebrows raised, when Tony turns to her, and he offers a small smile which she returns with a hint of encouragement.</p><p>“Okay, Tony Stark out. Peace guys, remember, peace,” he says, and Nebula rolls her eyes. For some reason, he’s feeling real Katniss Everdeen vibes and he’s not a huge fan of it.</p><p>Everybody’s still staring, and Tony so desperately wants to get away from them. This feels too much like too many things and he can’t handle it. The bartender’s emerged by now, shopkeepers from every direction, and they’re staring at him with a mix of shock and admiration. He doesn’t know what to do.</p><p>Nebula, it appears, does. She turns to the bartender, thanks them with a nod of the head, nods to the crowd gathered around the two stricken hunks on the floor, and drags him back to the ship by the hand.</p><p>It’s only by the time they’re back in the ship he can properly process what’s happened.</p><p>“Not to put this indelicately or anything, but what the hell did I do there?”</p><p>“I mean,” she says with another of her small smiles, “it looks to me pretty much like you just broke up a depressed brawl with a very emotionally charged and inspiring speech and then stood there in shock for at least a minute before I could pull you away.”</p><p>He sighs.</p><p>“That’s some Cap level shit and I don’t even wanna go there. That was idiotic, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“It was a bit dim, yes. It was good though, I think. People will see it, that person was almost definitely filming for the web, they’ve got reporters everywhere waiting to pick up on everything. I think it’ll do some good. Weird way to break up a fight.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, if I’d gotten in there physically my bones would definitely not be as unblemished as they are now, and they’re not particularly whole.”</p><p>She lets out a snort and they sit opposite each other, chess board sat ready between them. </p><p>“Chess?” He asks.</p><p>They play two rounds, both won by Nebula, before she speaks again. Tony’s become used to the silence of when she’s thinking, comfortable and expectant, but not impatient. It feels like a real place, in as much as a silence can feel like a place. If it were, it would be a room of some kind, small and furnished simply but comfortably. Perhaps with a view of the stars. He’s thinking too deep into this.</p><p>“You said you lost your kid.”</p><p>He looks up in surprise, and blinks.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Is he the one you talk to every day when you talk to the helmet?”</p><p>Tony doesn’t know how to respond. He is the one Tony imagines is there in the helmet, but he’s not exactly ready to admit that he’s venting to some pipe dream of a life that’s disappeared. But Nebula trusts him and he should trust her. He does. And he wants, no, he needs people to know about Peter.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You never say his name.”</p><p>“No, I don’t.” He doesn’t. It’s not for any particular reason, he just- the name is so close, the word is so close to him and he feels like if he says it, he’ll collapse in two, or something of the kind.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“His name is Peter.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>This is what he tells everyone, everyone of the galaxy.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>On Holdrahda, he sits between towering stalagmites before a group of exuberant gem miners. Each wears a hat somewhat like a hardhat but multi-purpose - armoured on the outside for mining, soft on the inside, with attached tools in the form of: a serrated knife; a roll of twine; a flashlight; a comms system; an energy bar; a pair of night vision goggles; a lighter; a tightly-packed thermal jacket and a hammer. He’s suitably surprised, and impressed, when they show him, that a hat can even fit such a multitude of bulky objects whilst still looking like a rational hat.</p><p>Small wooden tables are clustered amongst the stalagmites, far, far beneath a ceiling hung with stalactites, so high it might as well be clouds for all he can make out. Around the table used to be sat small groups of miners with their phenomenal hats and fluorescent jackets for seeing in the mines, but now they’re all clustered around, telling their stories.</p><p>One speaks of a planet far away, a woman he left far behind. Another tells the tale of a creature found further down the mines than any person has ever gone, huge and pale and scaled and terrifyingly fearsome. Another talks of idyllic shores she dreams of, vicious sea creatures beneath the shimmering waters but the sun so bright and beautiful overhead.</p><p>Then, his turn comes, their piercing blue eyes, all identical and three a face, focussed on him, in his softly glowing blue scarf and the less softly glowing blue jacket they’ve given him. They wait for him to speak.</p><p>He sets down his drink, pale green fizz rising as the mug hits the table. He clears his voice, and their eyes grow ever more expectant. He smiles, and he speaks.</p><p>“There was a kid I knew, who died when half of us disappeared.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>On Eurin, under the soft gaze of three moons, he sits with Nebula wedged tightly to his side and an alien with three rather inconvenient arms on each shoulder wedged to the other. The campfire, apparently sentient for some reason, grins at him, eyes and smile only just visible in the flickering light.</p><p>The fire is surrounded by people from all walks and species of life, he can see their faces as they speak, tears glistening or eyes shining, or both. Stories fly among the sparks and across the circle. The stars, different in their patterns on every planet he’s been to, glitter above them.</p><p>People speak in hundreds of languages, many of which he’s learnt, some of which he hasn’t, all of which he wants to know. The fire seems like it wants to tell a tale also, reaching out with its tendrils to the sky and to the speakers, who seem to trust that it won’t hurt them, but it cannot speak. Tony feels sorry for it and it’s helplessness.</p><p>He clears his throat and they turn to him. He doesn’t look at them, he’s looked at them enough. He looks at Nebula, beside him, Gamora’s tales already spilled from her mouth and eyes shining bright, whether from firelight or joy or tears, he can’t tell. He looks to the fire, and it seems to nod encouragingly. He speaks.</p><p>“His heart was too goddamn big for even the universe. And you will never, I tell you, never, meet a better person. I may be biased, but that’s the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>On Kirisho, Tony Stark sits before three old men who sit cross-legged on the ground atop three carefully-polished pedestals. They promise relief from tormenting thoughts and they promise nostalgia, and he wants both. Cloths are draped over them, glinting gold in the candlelight. He can hear the distant sounds of the market behind him, and he can hear Nebula protesting loudly about something a storeholder has offered her.</p><p>The three men, all bespectacled in huge glasses that seem to be made of something that looks like the inside of an oyster shell but looks also like the earth beneath his fingertips. He sits cross-legged also, but he is on the earth and they look down on him, not condescendingly, but as if they have many things they would like to say and many things they would like to hear. They all smoke pipes that look uncannily like Winston Churchill’s but the smoke smells sweet, slightly sickly but still nice.</p><p>He feels awkward. He’s never done something like the before, but the person he’s with, an exuberant Hyuridian who makes for excellent conversation, insisted that they were the most reliable stress reliever in the galaxy and had apparently been blessed by the gods. Nebula just shrugged, so here he is.</p><p>One of them, the one at the centre who seems to be some sort of leader, seemingly to fill up space in this elaborately draped yet small, low ceilinged room with only his presence, asks him if he is willing to tell his story.</p><p>Tony nods.</p><p>“He spent his time protecting people, he made me so much a better person. He made everyone so much a better person. He was a better person than all of us and it was contagious.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>On Rediury, the sun sets and he and Nebula and the rest of the thrumming crowd watch it, though only out of the corners of their eyes. Instead they dance, in harmony and way out of sync, and Tony nourns his dancing skills and he and Nebula attempt to imitate the beautiful dances of others.</p><p>The music sways and hums through the earth, beat heavy, and they dance, or at least, try to. He spins Nebula, and then he himself spins, and they both laugh.</p><p>“You dance terribly,” she tells him with that small smile that’s become as signature as his large one.</p><p>“So do you,” he responds, and they continue because they do not care. Nobody else seems to either, and on closer inspection many of them are just as bad. It’s oddly comforting, for some reason he can’t fathom.</p><p>They have one last song in celebration of those lost, and hours later they raise one last glass, drinks sloshing (his obviously non-alcoholic). He and Nebula end up sat around a small table until the sun completes its circuit and rises from the hills behind them. OPposite them, in the other two seats, are two friends they’ve made. One, a barely-humanoid that seems also to be also half octopus but still fine out of water and astonishingly eloquent, the other remarkably human-looking, if you ignored the scaled wings sprouting from his back, which shifted every minute or so. They prove to be great conversation.</p><p>“So, mate, tell us your story,” the winged man says in a language Tony’s only just learnt.</p><p>“Ok,” he responds in the very same language, and glances one to Nebula before he begins.</p><p>“A genius, a hero, a joker, a gift.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>On a planet without a name, he stands before a crowd. The planet should have a name, this is globally decided, but they never got round to getting one. It suits it better this way, this is also globally decided. It’s a paradox that Tony finds hilarious.</p><p>The crowd peers up at him expectantly, in his greased clothes, motor oil stains and small burn marks all over his hands. He grins, wide and full, and Nebula smiles the small smile, and they both step aside, dragging a curtain with them. From behind, out falls a dragon, metal plating gleaming in the sunlight and the stage lights, and eyes glowing, both because of the bulbs and with something else. Someone, he’s not sure who, thanks him and Nebula for fixing their protector.</p><p>The dragon turns to him and nudges at his side, slightly painful due to the hard metal plating, but still welcome, and he runs a hand over the bowed head of the dragon, who centuries ago protected these people and now once again will. This isn’t the first thing they’ve fixed, and it isn’t the last.</p><p>Tony turns to the presenter.</p><p>“May I say a few words?” he asks, and the presenter nods with a gracious smile and hands him what acts as a microphone but looks very much more like a rubik’s cube, or something of the sort. “I’d like to dedicate our work today here to someone.” The crowds murmurs, and smiles shine out. Nebula takes his hand and squeezes it once before letting go, something she’s started to do recently when the nightmares set in for either of them, though never in a situation like this. He feels emboldened. He continues, and the crowd listens.</p><p>“He was a good person, that is what matters, he is a good person. He was irritating all the time and damn well knew it, but he was the best person.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>On Ikrul, in a red light district he’s not sure how he and Nebula ended up in at all, he sits in a circle and plays poker with aliens who look like they could snap his spine with their toenails. That’s about the only relation at all they have to Natasha Romanoff. Nothing else is really the same, not even, according to one of them, the number of kidneys.</p><p>Despite their demeanours and general aggressive attitude, they’re pretty friendly. If you win against them, they’re respectful, and as they sit around a poker table, they share tales and suspicious glances.</p><p>Tony’s winning, of course he is. He’s a genius, and he counts cards as a habit. These losers don’t stand a chance, and they’ll keep their distance because even they’re afraid of Nebula.</p><p>He wins another round and collects up the money they leave with laughs he expects would be growls if he wasn’t who he was and he didn’t speak how he does.</p><p>One asks him if he has any stories of battle to tell. They’ve heard stories from mountains and deserts and jungles around this table, they’ve heard stories from duel to battle to war, and they’ve heard, from him, the story of a fight to the death in the snow with a monster of a person burning hot and bright from the inside (he exaggerates the story a bit)(a lot). But apparently they want another story, and there’s someone he hasn’t told them of yet who he promised to tell of to every voice who heard.</p><p>“He was a fighter, brave and courageous and downright idiotic and reckless at times.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He and Nebula sit side by side in the cockpit of the ship, a nebula spread out before them (the celestial body of celestial waste, not the cyborg smurf). It’s beautiful, a thousand colours and dotted with stars he longs to explore. He’s on his way home, but he’s also on a journey.</p><p>“Nebula, it’s you.” He says with a mischievous grin, and she hits him lightly in the shoulder.</p><p>“Idiot. I could point at, I don’t know, a shark, and say it’s you.”</p><p>“You know, I’ve been compared to many things, but never a shark. Also, that’s not quite the same, and you know it.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes and turns back to the beautiful expanse of her namesake laid right outside the window for them to see.</p><p>“Once again, idiot. And you should be flattered to be compared to a shark.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I am.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>He grins, chuckling slightly, and reaches back for a bag of some weird-looking chips they picked up on the way. He opens it, and is immediately repulsed. The first reason is that they’re green, and making that an appetising colour for a crisp would be quite a feat. The second is that they’re squirming. Like maggots, like insects dried and crispy but somehow still alive. However, he’s learnt, over his months in space, not to judge a food by how it looks, so he takes a bite.</p><p>It really is just as disgusting as it looks.</p><p>“Want one?” He offers the packet with a grin to Nebula, who takes one, bites into it without a qualm, and then grimaces.</p><p>“If you give me one of those again, I will not hesitate to remove your skin.”</p><p>“God, you sound just like Peter.”</p><p>Nebula stops wiping her tongue with her sleeve and looks at him quizzically for more than a few long moments. He’s almost starting to get uncomfortable when she says with curiosity and a hint of confusion,</p><p>“Who was Peter to you?”</p><p>Tony does not know how to respond. Peter was everything and also he was not so many things. He tells her,</p><p>“He was my son."</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>He spreads Peter’s name and his legacy throughout the galaxy.</p><p>Rhodey once told him that he looked at Peter like he hung the stars, but as Tony tells it, hanging the stars doesn’t even hold a candle to what he’s done. He exaggerates, of course he does, but he loves Peter and he’s going to make sure he’s never, ever forgotten. The kid who was too bright for this universe and the kid who Tony will, he will, make sure brings his light to the universe again.</p><p>The universe meets Tony Stark, and it learns Peter Parker’s name.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 83</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ships’ Log, the Benatar. Day 83, Titan to Earth-slash-Terra. Earth/Terran Date 2018.</p>
<p>Begin recording.</p>
<p>I- Hey. Hello from Gagarin. Dear ol’ Yuri would be proud, I think, to have a planet with the same name.</p>
<p>I’m in what I guess is the space equivalent of a trailer park. I mean, they probably also have something like normal trailer parks somewhere, but this is a proper space travel one, full of spaceships. It feels a bit like camping, but with huge contraptions of metal instead of tents.</p>
<p>You know, before you took me camping that one time, I’d never been. It’s something me and Jarvis, the butler not the AI, used to talk about all the time. Well, all the time as in when he was tucking me in for bed, or when he was bandaging me up. We said we’d go somewhere, Minnesota perhaps, Alaska if we were feeling particularly like freezing to death. I think he knew we would never go, but I believed him. Or maybe I didn’t, but I wanted to. It was all planned out, I saved up money, we were going to get a train, buy some tents, spend my time climbing trees and everything else kids do camping while he and Ana did what they liked. Read, played cards, I don’t know. Sometimes we planned we’d bring Peggy and her husband Daniel as well. Peggy would teach me to survive in the wild, and camouflage and how to make as little noise as possible. I planned all of it, committed it all painstakingly to memory. See, I still remember all of it, every detail.</p>
<p>I was a bit of a lonely child, if you can tell. I think I was, what, six? I kept saying that we would go eventually, but then over the years it became less and less likely and then there was boarding school and college and uni and then they died and we didn’t go.</p>
<p>And then you came along, kid, and you took me, and it wasn’t the same as I’d planned, I don't know, 40 years before, but it was perfect.</p>
<p>So yeah, this is kinda like camping, but not really. I guess I skipped a day, but I’m recounting yesterday so I think it should count. There was a campfire, we sat around it with a load of aliens stopping off on Gagarin for just a few nights and a few of them taught us a song, in Yurerelen, a camping song about both putting your enemies heads on spikes and warm baths. An odd combination, but welcome to space. Everything is odd.</p>
<p>I taught them that song you taught me, in English, and I’m pretty sure most of them didn’t understand, but they sang in good spirit anyway. You know, the one about going travelling and not stopping till we get where we’re going? We don’t know where we’re going but we’re walking like we do sort of thing? Feels like it could be applied here. That’s basically what we’re doing by now. Earth is the end goal but everything in between is unknown. </p>
<p>It’s that time of the morning now where the sun’s just rising but nobody’s awake yet, so it’s quiet but you can hear guljebeest in the trees singing their throaty but still somehow melodious song. There’s the added quiet rumbling of the engines, but it doesn’t really do much. It’s about 4 in the morning, I think. It’s a bit like summer Scandinavia here. Sun sets late, rises early.</p>
<p>Oh, no nevermind, I’m not the only one awake. Over on the other side of the field, a Cryn is stepping out of their ship. They look pretty hungover. Oh, well, they’ve thrown up in the trees that surround the field. Wonderful. Cryn vomit is not a substance to be reckoned will, I tell you that. I feel sorry for any Frieder that comes across that, they’re particularly vulnerable to it. Some aliens are just not supposed to be mixed with alcohol and the chance of a hangover.</p>
<p>I still haven’t drank anything, kid, I’m not breaking my promise. Well, of course I’ve drank things, but no alcohol. Can’t get rid of all your hard work now, can I?</p>
<p>I’m sitting on the ramp up to the ship now, helmet with me and recording. Just voice, as you can tell. We were attacked by some pirates just before we got here and the camera broke when they knocked the ship. We got rid of them, no worry, but the suit had to make a little appearance.</p>
<p>The grass is greener here. It’s not just because of the morning light or anything, but it’s literally greener. I can’t really explain it. The dew doesn’t help. Sorry, kid, I’m rambling.</p>
<p>Have you ever looked at the stars really closely? Like, really, really closely, focussing on each one. They feel like friends now. I know that’s weird, but they’re all so familiar now, even if on each planet the layout is different. I’ve worshipped them, you know, even if religion is still something I refuse to settle in. There are customs on planets, and they feel faith-worthy. More than anything my parents believed in, anyway.</p>
<p>I know I’ve said this so many times before, but I’ve seen so much, kid, I’ve seen so much, and all of it, all of it, I’m going to tell you. Everything. I’ve told them about you, I hope you’re ok with that. I want people to know your name, because you deserve that.</p>
<p>Ok, look, I know I’m kinda stealing this from Aaron Burr or whoever sang this in that weird founding fathers musical you showed me, but I’m gonna dedicate every day to you, okay? I don’t know if I can do that, but then again I’ve never been one to keep to rules, so I’m gonna do it anyway. Here, now everything I do is yours to enjoy as well.</p>
<p>I sang some Hamilton to Nebula, because she was curious when I mentioned musicals, and she likes it. I think she feels some sort of connection to the characters, or something. She’s still adamantly set on Old Yellow Bricks as the song of all universe-ly wonder, which is half understandable and half nonsense given that Back in Black exists, but when we get to Terra, I’m gonna play the real thing for her. And the Wizard of Oz. Because I can, and because I want to show her everything I can, like I want to show you.</p>
<p>Ok, I’ve gotta go, Neb’s awake and standing at the top of the gangplank, looking tired and holding out some space waffles, but I’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll talk tomorrow, and I’ll get you back, I promise, kid, I promise, and you know I don’t break promises anymore.</p>
<p>Hang in there, okay?</p>
<p>End recording.”</p>
<p>Static.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gravity shifts slightly, as it always does when they enter orbit, and Tony glances over his shoulder at Nebula with a grin as he stands at the control console. She grins back, pulling on her scarf and jacket. The ship shifts slightly again, this time to the side to avoid a flock of high altitude Fihrahnas. Tony’s told her about piranhas on Terra, and she’s pretty sure the name is fitting in relation. They’re basically the same, but minus the wing and the extra heads and upsized by at least three times. They’ve had a few run-ins with some unusually aggressive flocks, but usually they’re perfectly placid despite their terrifying appearance.</p>
<p>The jacket is new but the scarf is old, the same one that glows dim blue, lighting her features dramatically wherever she goes. She’s not sure if she wears it so much because she likes it or because it’s the first gift anyone had ever given her. Or both. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has and is still not showing any signs of age at all. Either there’s some sort of magic on it or the fabric is amazing. Either way, it must have cost a fortune (she didn’t doubt that before though, knowing Tony Stark), but she’s more grateful for the sentiment than the price.</p>
<p>They touch down after a few minutes, landing carefully in a free space, and Tony grabs his jacket and scarf, same as her (though his jacket is made of green jukewyrm hide and hers navy Poceran leather). The door slides open and the gangplank extends onto a surface of unblemished greyish-purple rock. </p>
<p>This is Opiran, a planet well known for its barren surface and underground cities. The only other places they’ve been yet with such development under the earth was Holdrahda, with its gem miners and cities among stalactites and stalagmites, and Amadeus’ city under the snow, and this is, according to the pamphlets she found in the Galactic Web’s tourism section (near to the column they’ve now instated which is just named the Tony Stark column), shaping up to be the most impressive of them all.</p>
<p>Sharing a quick glance which nowadays adds up to about a conversation, they step out onto the pristine, surface of the planet, ship closing up behind them with a quiet whir. For miles, there is nothing to be seen, no other ships, no buildings, not a thing. Tony glances at her in confusion but starts to walk forward with a shrug. With a frown he mirrors in a more confused fashion, she holds out an arm to stop him and steps forward herself. The ground is almost slippery, so perfectly flat and clean it looks less like the natural surface of a planet and more like some surface a very bored person has spent three hours painstakingly wiping spotless.</p>
<p>When she’s made sure there are no dangers ahead, no traps hidden beneath what has proven so far to be unbroken stone. He grins and falls into stride with her as they walk forward, uncertain of where they are going but certain of what they wish to find. (Or at least, Tony seems to be. She’s not sure if she is.)</p>
<p>They walk for what could be hours and could be minutes, until the ship is just a speck on the horizon and the comfortable banter has sunk more into soft conversation that echoes quietly across the wilderness.</p>
<p>There in an almighty sound she can only compare to the sound made when Tony tripped and fell the other day, climbing up the ramp, and dropped a huge box of tools. A sort of clanging thud. Slowly, like the ghosts she’d seen rising from the mists on a planet she can no longer remember, Tony at her six as each ghost glided forward with a snarl, buildings rise from the rock, encircling them. They’d shown no sign of being below the surface before, yet here they are, like some sort of henge. 1 metre squared at the base, 2 and a half metres tall, they stand eerily around them.</p>
<p>“Um, Neb? What are these intergalactic portapotties?”</p>
<p>“Porta-potty?”</p>
<p>“It’s a sort of portable toilet thing builders use and they have at music festivals. Would not recommend.”</p>
<p>“Right, well, I have no idea, so I guess we will see?”</p>
<p>“I guess we will.</p>
<p>He walks forward again, and he’s too fast for her to stop him this time. He advances towards one of the contraptions and opens the door. There’s a moment, between when he steps inside and when his head sticks back out with a smile, when she panics, but then he’s smiling and telling her to go get her own. The door closes and he disappears. Odd.</p>
<p>Inside, it’s much smaller than it looks standing out on the surface. In actual fact, it probably is exactly the same size, but the lack of vast, unbroken horizon makes it feel much, much tighter. No sooner have the doors closed, making the space almost claustrophobic, though claustrophobia is something Nebula has very definitely never experienced before, another less than pleasant sensation is added to that, as the who capsule decides just to fall straight through the earth with no concern for how hard her head hits the ceiling.</p>
<p>When she reaches the apparent end of whatever this considerably violent and annoying form of transportation could be called, she’s almost too dizzy even to open the door. Luckily, she doesn’t have to; above her stands Tony, with his signature grin and hand outstretched, and she grins back.</p>
<p>Welcome to the universe, she thinks, for reasons she can’t quite understand.</p>
<p>The tourism pamphlets didn’t lie. By the time she can actually see straight, Tony’s maneuvered them out of what seems to be a landing area, circle of tubes identical to the one that rose eerily up hundreds (or maybe it’s thousands) of feet above them. The ground is the same rock as the surface but with a slightly different colour, glinting ever so slightly green (or perhaps she’s not quite regained her ability to see right yet).</p>
<p>But above them, above them is a city.</p>
<p>If it can be called that. It hangs like some glowing, buzzing chrysalis from the ceiling of a cavern she’s not quite sure even has a ceiling, suspended on what seems like barely strings. Precarious walkways hang off the edge, upside-down stairwells and various turrets and watchtowers and spires and streetlamps and storefronts all haphazardly brought together in a vast, oddly beautiful sight. It’s huge, hangs there like a droplet about to fall, one lone, cobbled path spirally upwards and upwards towards it.</p>
<p>Beside her, Tony sucks in a short breath and exhales a long, amazed sigh.</p>
<p>“Jesus fuck.”</p>
<p>“How eloquent, Stark.”</p>
<p>“You know I have such a way with words, Nebula Cyborg-Smurf.”</p>
<p>She grins. The city above them glints in approval as they stare up at it, less than nothing in comparison to it’s huge, intricate beauty.</p>
<p>“Up we go?” She asks.</p>
<p>“Up we go,” He says, and they do.</p>
<p>The path upwards isn’t actually as long as it looks, or perhaps it is, but time never passes at all slowly when she’s talking to Tony, and there’s so many odds and ends on the underside of the city to stare at that she could probably spend her whole life walking upwards and upwards and never get bored. </p>
<p>On one edge of the city, several balconies hang high over the cavern floor, strung with fairy lights and bunting, in what seems to be some sort of communal arrangement, all linked up with precarious ladders and rope bridges. Kids with tails and an extra pair of arms swing between them, tossing a glowing ball to each other as they move. On another side, someone’s hung out their washing, which is slowly becoming streaked with bird poop as several parrot-like probably-pets perch themselves on it. Just above, a glass floor shows a view into what appears to be some sort of night club or disco venue, dancers twirling and spinning above them (she’s every glad none appear to be wearing dresses). Various bird cages, seemingly home to the birds now befouling some unfortunate person’s washing line, hang empty and open above next to a fish tank, housing three fish who should, if they can form coherent thoughts, be absolutely terrified.</p>
<p>Looking up, Nebula can’t quite work out how gravity works here. People seem to be walking in all sorts of directions, some on streets uprights, others in small plazas, completely upside down, as the buildings are as well. She guesses they’ll find out.</p>
<p>Tony looks as utterly engrossed as she is.</p>
<p>“Hey, Neb, look up there,” he says, and points to a corner which she hadn’t noticed, where some sort of boxing ring hangs, though the people inside seem to not be fighting but instead playing what looks like a game of chess. It probably could be classed as fighting, she supposes, at least in her opinion, but it’s not exactly what she would expect from an arena such as that.</p>
<p>She turns back to him and by the glint in his eyes, is about 96.3% sure he’s thinking the exact same thing as she is.</p>
<p>“Ok, you can absolutely thrash them all at whatever that chess thing is later, right now we have a dinner invite to attend and a city to explore.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their invite is a beautiful one, gilded and hand-written out in an ink that seems to shimmer on the page. She hasn’t seen it before today, they’d only received it yesterday and she has no doubt Tony would have shown her if she’d asked, but she’d been exhausted and not particularly bothered, so he’d kept it to himself. Holding it now, she’s somewhat taken aback.</p>
<p>It looks like so much care has been put into it, painstakingly written out a short paragraph about what an honour it would be to receive them for a dinner ball, and what the night would entail, and how much they would like to meet them, but that’s not quite what she’s surprised by.</p>
<p>At the top, in the beautiful calligraphy of whoever wrote this (she hasn't looked at the other side of the letter for the name yet, is written,</p>
<p>For Tony Stark and Nebula Stark Cyborg-Smurf,</p>
<p>It continues into something about them fixing Nivadellir and how the writer has somehow found out that they both, Tony especially, faced Thanos and made him hurt, but her brain hasn’t quite wrapped around what the first line said. She turns to Tony, who’s smiling hesitantly in the light of a streetlamp. The street is quiet, a side lane just around the corner from their venue. She can hear his breathing, just, slightly laboured as it always is.</p>
<p>“Stark?” She manages to ask, and his smile falters.</p>
<p>“I- they asked me for your name and I didn’t want to put anything about the rip-off Ursula and they seemed too fancy for me not to give a last name so-”</p>
<p>He’s cut off as she hugs him, hard. This isn’t the first time she’s initiated contact, though it’s usually him, but this is the first time it’s been a full-on hug, and never has it been so full of emotion. He relaxes into it, and her hands tighten on the back of his jacket. She lets out an odd, almost exhilarated laugh, and he does too. She pulls back, keeping him at arm's length, to see his eyes are slightly leaking again. It’s supposed to be a sign of sadness, according to Quill’s version of human culture, but Tony’s told her it can also mean someone’s happy. She’s still a bit stuck on figuring out which is which, but she hopes, fervently, that this is the latter.</p>
<p>He grins, mirroring what she hadn’t realised she was already doing, and it appears that it is.</p>
<p>They continue to walk, after a moment, and Tony says, grin lingering,</p>
<p>“I feel like I should give you something as a welcome to the family. If that’s what you’d like? I don’t know, family isn't really about blood for me any more, you know about Rhodey and Pep and Happy and my bot kids and my kid and you don’t have to-”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Stark. I’d- I would like to be a part of your family.”</p>
<p>It feels odd to say that. Family, for her, has always meant something terrible, and Gamora had been the only one she’d actually loved, if she could call it that. But perhaps family isn’t so bad, she wonders, when Tony’s stopped hugging her again and the street falls away behind them. Or perhaps she just got the meaning wrong in the first place.</p>
<p>When she lets go of her thoughts, they’ve reached the facade of a building, way more extravagant than is necessary or should just about be legal. It’s at least 60% gold and 20% dramatic light fixtures, and the rest is so intricately patterned it must be just as expensive as the gold. There are at least seven stories of elaborate windows stretching high above them, and that’s speaking nothing of the front doors. At least twice their height and even more delicately patterned than the rest of the building, Nebula finds it both impressive and disgustingly excessive.</p>
<p>Tony’s still staring at the building with an emotion Nebula can’t decipher. He huffs a laugh.</p>
<p>“Gaudi, much. Except, more, you know, gold.”</p>
<p>“What’s Gaudi?” She asks as he joins her in front of the doors.</p>
<p>“Architect. Designed, like, half of Barcelona. Really interesting and cool stuff but way, way less gold.”</p>
<p>“Right. In?”</p>
<p>“In.”</p>
<p>They don’t, in fact, go in straight away, but the door knocker, as she touches it, sings, literally, some song about guests and visitors, and the door is opened. Behind stands a tall, thin, blue person in a black, gold-embroidered suit with a small bow tie and three tentacles. They lift one to lower their spectacles and peer over them with slightly sunken eyes. Tony gives a smile and a wave, seemingly unperturbed by this person’s rather formidable height and off-putting face. Their skin stretches too tight over their bones, but they’re lathered with makeup to make it seem as if it isn’t. She thinks the eyeliner is a bit overkill.</p>
<p>“Tony Stark, Nebula Stark Cyborg-Smurf,” they say, voice peppered with inflections that imply admiration but exude politeness and a classy upbringing, though that may just be the accent of everyone here. They’ve managed to keep a low profile so far, and therefore haven’t really had to talk to anyone other than the gatekeeper, who was half-asleep and whose voice was more yawn than anything else.</p>
<p>“That’s us,” Tony concedes with a grin and a little bow, which Nebula resists the urge to snicker at.</p>
<p>“The mistress requests you see her upon arrival. This way.”</p>
<p>The person seems happy with their concise order, and turns on their noticeably non-tentacle heel in a way that suggests he expects them to follow.</p>
<p>They do. The probably-butler leads them through corridors filled to the brim with guests of various species carrying glasses of bubbling liquids in various colours and wearing clothes completely too extravagant and gold for her taste. She is starting to notice a theme here.</p>
<p>Eventually, they reach a door, similar to the front entrance in decoration, though considerably smaller. The butler nods to them, opens it, then disappears, coattails following close behind.</p>
<p>They move inside, Nebula hesitantly, Tony, from what she can see, confident yet still somewhat unsure. The room is huge, the gold theme this place has got going on continued even into what seems to be a private room. The walls are covered in portraits, shelves coated in expensive-looking knick-knacks. </p>
<p>A woman sits behind the gilded white desk that sits at the centre of the room, watching them. She sits comfortably but still professionally, dressed in an all white suit, bar the golden strings embroidered across it. She’s mostly humanoid, though two small horns curl, almost hidden in her navy pixie cut, and when she opens her mouth to speak, Nebula can see that teeth line her mouth and throat, all the way back and probably further, and sharp.</p>
<p>“Tony, Nebula! Welcome. I’m glad you could make it.” She speaks with the same inflections as the butler, but with more authority. “How are you?”</p>
<p>Surprising herself, Nebula answers first. Tony smiles encouragingly at her as she speaks.</p>
<p>“We are okay. Thank you for inviting us here, it is an honour to be your guest.”</p>
<p>“Why thank you. To introduce myself, by name is Cait Maeris, and I am one of the barons in control of running the city, as well as CEO of the largest entertainment company on the planet. Wonderful to make your acquaintance.”</p>
<p>Tony steps forward with a smile, hand out.</p>
<p>“Tony Stark; Iron Man, Inventor, Genius, Pseudo-Prince, Storyteller, Equal of Gods. It is delightful to be in your esteemed presence.”</p>
<p>“I could say the same to you.”</p>
<p>“And this is Nebula Stark Cyborg-Smurf; Genius, Storyteller, Equal of Gods, Guardian of the Galaxy, and if she comes to any harm here I’ll have your head on a platter.”</p>
<p>“And if you hurt my butler you’re not leaving here alive. I’m glad we’re clear. Would you like a tour?”</p>
<p>The building does nothing to change her initial view of the place. It is completely and unnecessarily excessive in every aspect of its being, even the mirrors in the toilets, which she stares at now.</p>
<p>Cait’s given them different clothes to wear before the tour. She says she can’t have them ruin the aesthetic, and Nebula would be perfectly happy to do just that, but Cait’s glare is pretty formidable and she can’t really be bothered to fight her way through a city of people for the right to wear her normal clothes.</p>
<p>She’s been given a suit, dark reddish-purple and embroidered with golden threads, just like Cait’s, and a pair of gloves in the same style. She pulls them on, and tries not to look at her reflection. There’s a knock on the door.</p>
<p>“Come in.”</p>
<p>Tony pokes his head round the door, hair dusted with what looks like gold glitter. The rest of his body emerges from behind, in a suit identical to hers, except for the base fabric, an identical red to Iron Man. It suits him much better than it suits her, she thinks.</p>
<p>“Looking good, Neb. Ready to show these stuck-up aristocrats what we’re made of?”</p>
<p>She lets out a laugh.</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After hours of chatting amicably with people overly decorated and pompous, dancing both disastrously and hilariously with Tony in the ballroom that would be large enough to fit their whole ship at least twice, eating surprisingly nice canapes, regaling the guests with stories of them both, and restraining herself from at least smashing one chandelier in frustration, Nebula and Tony stumble out of the building, grins plastered on their faces.</p>
<p>Cait won’t know they’ve convinced her sentient doorknob to sing about cheese until the next month, when it agreed to start, and they’re going to hack into the surveillance, so this is going to be absolutely hilarious.</p>
<p>Tony grins at her under the streetlamp as they set off. Cait has put them up in what Tony explains is the galactic equivalent of a BnB, though she doesn’t quite grasp the concept yet. All she knows is that it’s on the other side of town, and they’ve got a city to explore.</p>
<p>“So, Neb, you enjoy our party?”</p>
<p>“It was certainly… interesting.”</p>
<p>He snorts, and they round the corner onto what appears to be a thoroughfare of some sorts. </p>
<p>“Right. Anything else?”</p>
<p>“Cait is afraid.”</p>
<p>Tony stops and stares at her under another of the lamps. It casts dramatic shadows across his features, which seem both very fitting and not at all. Somewhere above them, music that seems to be a mix of some sort of folk and heavy-metal rock blares. Voices spew from a window in multiple languages.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I noticed. I wonder why.”</p>
<p>“Is there always a reason someone is scared?”</p>
<p>They keep walking, passing such a variety of places in this myriad of streets and steps and wrought iron lampposts that Nebula’s sure it’ll take more than the week they’re here for to even see a fraction of it.</p>
<p>“No I- I guess not.” He seems contemplative, which figures, seeing as she just said something pretty contemplative, but perhaps more so than the statement warrants. “I- were you ever scared?”</p>
<p>She doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about.</p>
<p>“Sometimes. Were you, you know, on Terra. Any time.”</p>
<p>He lets out a short, dry laugh.</p>
<p>“All the time, all the fucking time. I still am. It hasn’t changed. I don’t think it’s because of something that’s happened, I think it’s just, I don’t know. How I am. What happened didn’t help, though.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t know how to respond. They walk in silence, for a while. They pass the fronts of houses that look like most of the other facades, what Tony’s describing as basically-old-european-townhouses (she has no idea what that means), but these are completely and utterly made of glass. Inside is an aquarium, but empty. It’s a haunting sight, amidst the lively crowds. Dark and completely lifeless.</p>
<p>“It was worth it though, right?” She asks, and he glances at her. Nothing passes between the glance. It’s not like those they can talk through. Not quite talk, but understand each other. No, this is just a glance, merely a movement of the eyes to take in her appearance, her face, for no other reason than to look at her. It’s a calculating glance, from what she can tell.</p>
<p>“Most of the time, it was. Especially later.”</p>
<p>“After Rogers.”</p>
<p>Tony flinches, actually fucking flinches. Nebula has the urge to travel to Terra right now and punch Rogers, a feeling she’s not unfamiliar with.</p>
<p>“I- yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else, but Nebula wants to keep this conversation alight, so she keeps talking. He’s told her, so many times, that if she wants to talk about something, she should, so she does.</p>
<p>“Why do you think Cait’s scared, though? It looked like it was for a reason, not just irrational anxiety.”</p>
<p>He sighs. They’ve reached a building, standing tall above them, as mismatched with the rest of the street as every building is. It seems almost lopsided, like badly stacked textbooks, floor after floor just off-centre.</p>
<p>“I guess we’ll find out.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for not updating in so long, here's another chapter and some metaphorical cookies :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 96</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Terra-slash-Earth Day 96. Earth date 2018.</p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Hey. I- I, honestly, am tired. I think that's the first time I've admitted that in just about forever without it just being a silence filler.</p><p>Yeah, I'm tired. We've been exploring the city for 6 days now, I think. Time is funny down here. I might've done 6 logs in the space of 14 days. Who knows.</p><p>I miss you, kid. That's unprompted, nothing to worry about. Just miss you. You'd know what to do about loving the city so much but also feeling weirdly trapped. It might be about being underground? I don't know. I miss the stars. </p><p>Just miss you, kid. Remember, when we bought inline skates and you were somehow perfect on them and I was a stumbling mess? And you said I was the epitome of grace and beauty and I almost fell down a fucking well laughing at that. I probably laughed too hard. Again, who knows? You laughed just as hard as I did, I think.</p><p>It's even funnier because I'm great on roller skates and you're terrible. I don't know how those skills transfer, there must be some link, and yet.</p><p>We found an arena for what I think is something akin to roller derby but with less rules and extra herbivorous creatures as obstacles. I didn't win anything, but I think I did ok.</p><p>What I did win, working with Nebula, was the most complicated game of chess-poker-Uno that I've ever played. They have arenas hanging from the bottom of the city, like boxing rings suspended over the cavern floor. We won with our combined genius against professionals. It's a nuanced game but once you understand it, it's not too complicated. You'd like it, I think. Pepper definitely would, and Rhodey would love it. Did I ever tell you about that poker game we played in MIT. We played with potato chips and it involved macaroni and jumping out of ground floor windows into snow. Ask him, he won't be able to stop laughing, I guarantee.</p><p>You'd like a lot of things here, I think. The dance floor over an aquarium for yesterday, the tiny room where I talked to a small bald man with hundreds of glowing tattoos about the universe. The groups of kids who play around the various fountains and fish coins out. Those few and far between lampposts which turn their heads to follow you down the street with their light. The shop, right at the top in what would be the attic rafters of the city, where they pull toffee that looks so similar despite the faint green glow, but tastes like a combination of the stars and candyfloss. The small corner filled with beautiful cloths where I met an old woman in a jumpsuit, with small purple spines, who did not recognise me but who still asked me how I was. She was called Emari, I think. The tiny cafe me and Neb had dinner in yesterday, with chairs that wrap around you like some weird octopus and waiters who'll talk amicably to you for hours if given the chance.</p><p>Scratch that.</p><p>I think you'd like the whole of the universe. The markets, humming with life, with street food that tries to escape if you don't grip it tight enough. Huge, wondrous cities and tiny icy shacks in the middle of nowhere and towns where everything is odd. The people, so many different species, so many different people. Warriors, scholars, artists, aristocrats, so many things. I don't know, my description maybe isn't the best. But-" Silence approximating 3 seconds, with shaky breathing.</p><p>"I think you'd like it here." Speech is shaky, broken up. Hard to hear in places. "I'll bring you here, I'll show you everything, okay?" A sob, short and quiet bit very much there. "Kid…" More shaky breaths, slight sobs. "I'd trade them all for you, you know. They're wonderful, but-"</p><p>Silence approximating 7 seconds, long shaky breaths.</p><p>"I know this isn't great and you'd be annoyed, but if I could, I'd give my life for yours. And it's so fucking cheesy but there it is. I'd trade all this for you, okay? Just- come back? Come back." Shaky breath, a sob. "Come back, kid, please. Please. I know you can't, but-" a shaky exhale, silence approximating 4 seconds.</p><p>"If you can't do it I'm gonna fucking do it for you. I'd go against the universe, if I could. I don't have to, because here they are next to me. And you aren't.</p><p>Kid-</p><p>I love you, okay? If I hadn't already said that a million times it might mean something. It doesn't quite work anymore. It feels like more than that, like something words can't quite encompass. And that's cliche and all, and I'd thought it was just something fake they used for romance novels, and then you came along, and it's not just romance and it's not fake. And I can't describe it.</p><p>Does every parent feel like this? Kid, you- I don't know if they do. They may, they may not. This is so much emotion I'm not sure what to do with it. Think of how much emotion exists, in the universe. If you put that all in one person, what would happen?</p><p>They'd die, I think. I don't know.</p><p>I don't want to die. Maybe once I did, you certainly made sure I didn't. But I would, to get you back, okay? And you'd be furious with me but you'd be alive." He says alive with a reverence, his breathing still shaking. He lets out a sob.</p><p>"What did I do to deserve you, seriously? I've been terrible all my life, and you come along and you love me like I'm someone who's never made the mistakes I have and who's nowhere near what I am, but I am, and yet, you still do. </p><p>I’m being so fucking cliche ignore what I just said I have a reputation to uphold and this is doing nothing for it.</p><p>I love you. I'm going to say that because that's the only words I have. And I didn't mean to turn this into a soliloquy but-"</p><p>A loud knocking and a crash.</p><p>"Fuck. I'll- I love you, kid, Peter, so, so much. </p><p>Hang in there, okay?</p><p>End-"</p><p>Static.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Tony clicks off the helmet recorder and stuffs it into the bag by his feet, a woven satchel, a gift from a man he’d met weeks ago, green hair and skin and eyes and a problem that had needed solving. And he’d solved it. He always does. That just is what he does.</p><p>He takes a moment, barely a fraction of a moment, to gather himself, to will tears back from his eyes and to collect all the pieces of him that talking has somehow shattered and left in various spots akin to the diners he and Peter used to frequent on particularly sleepless nights. </p><p>After this fraction of a moment, he turns to Cait, panting in the doorway and still adorned in more gold than he ever thought he’d see on a person (and he’s seen some rather remarkable people, both on Terra and not). </p><p>“Ok, what do you need so badly you came crashing in here looking for all the universe like you’re about to combust right on the spot?”</p><p>Nebula lets out a snort that only Tony, just a few feet from her, would be able to hear. Cait barely seems to notice his words, let alone Nebula’s amusement. She looks panicked, more scared, more nervous than any of the days, though she’s always been jittery.</p><p>“Tony, Nebula, I’m going to need you to come with me.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>She almost, he can tell, rolls her eyes.</p><p>“Just come, I’ll explain when we get there.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Tony and Nebula are led, one again (though the first time by her) through the myriad of streets, the tall buildings, many old-fashioned, many not so, and the lampposts that tilt what he assumes are their heads in something that looks akin to curiosity. If he hadn’t spent so long with his bots, perhaps he would think it isn’t, but he knows it is. There’s a small pang in his chest among all the other still ongoing pangs.</p><p>Silence is not something he’d thought he’d ever hear in this city, which never seems to sleep. It never has to. There’s no concept of night and do, why would there be? They are not affected by the sun, they can keep living however they want. The inn where they are staying has no set times for meals, no set times for food or cleaning, because time isn’t really a concept here. There are days, obviously, and times for events, but routines based on the tickings of clock and pocket watches don’t seem to have any relevance at all. The city never sleeps.</p><p>Still, it is silent.</p><p>There is no sign of any people and no sign of the life he loves this place for. Almost everything, if you’re including the lampposts, is still (everything, if you aren’t), but even their movements seem almost lethargic. It’s disconcerting.</p><p>A while ago, he’d have felt panicked about this, but he’s learnt by now that almost all of his rather common panic is completely and utterly irrelevant to the situation, and he’s seen so much this is nowhere near as terrifying as it would have been 10 years ago. Five years ago, even. Nebula doesn’t seem bothered, either, though she’s looking around curiously and with closely disguised confusion.</p><p>Cait, however, is almost panicking. No, not almost panicking. She is definitely panicking, but she’s hiding it well, very well, and Tony recognises it. Obviously. There are some things she can’t guard and that’s what he sees.</p><p>He shares a glance with Nebula, tilts his head, and waits for her to nod quietly before catching up to Cait, who’s walking impressively fast for someone barely 5’6. He falls into a rather tiring stride with her, and nudges her side slightly. She turns a completely calm, collected face towards him and offers what seems to be a genuine smile. Which is even more impressive than her apparently inhuman speed. He’s still forgetting that the people he meets are, in fact, not human, which is annoying but makes for either pleasant or unpleasant surprise. It depends on which way you look at it.</p><p>Cait, despite her panic, hasn’t lost an ounce of her imposing presence. He’s almost nervous when he asks her quietly, though he’s not for what reason, given there’s nobody else around,</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>She frowns.</p><p>“Of course I’m okay, what sort of a question is that?”</p><p>“You look pretty panicked.”</p><p>She raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“If you want to be a dick, go ahead. I have enough on my plate already.”</p><p>He steps back, nervous.</p><p>“Okay, but if you go into a panic attack, try to focus on your senses. Five things you can see, four things you can hear, 3 things you can feel, etc. It helps. Usually.”</p><p>She stops, and he’s on the verge of worry himself, when she turns to him, brows furrowed.</p><p>“You’re a curious person, Tony Stark.” She keeps walking.</p><p>For more than the hundredth time in all the months he’s been in space, Tony doesn’t know what to say. As it turns out, he doesn’t need to say anything, because the next moment Cait disappears. Right off the face of the earth. Well, of the city. How odd.</p><p>The following moment, her head pokes up from what he had previously thought was solid cobbles.</p><p>“Those… aren’t stone?”</p><p>Cait rolls her eyes, and Nebula, out of the corner of his eye, tilts her head in what could either be confusion or curiosity, or both.</p><p>“They’re an illusion. Come on, it’s not safe out here.”</p><p>He wants to ask why, but Cait’s already gone, down amongst the apparently not-cobbles. Nebula when he turns to her in question, just shrugs and takes a tentative step forward.</p><p>They descend beyond the husk of the city on what he can now see are stairs, and below them, on platforms and floors and at tables and makeshift bars, are people. So many people. So many voices, so many colours, and so, so, so many people. It looks like the whole population of the city, though he can’t exactly be sure. He’d found some people pretty well hidden; he's not sure they could get out of their hiding spots if they tried. Under the foundations of an opera house for example, playing cards in the remains of a collapsed pub.</p><p>It’s odd here, the mix of new and glamorous, people always striving to build better, flashier things, and abandoned buildings, decrepit and falling down, that nobody has enough money or can be bothered to put funding into the repair of. He’s not sure how to feel about it. </p><p>They follow Cait, sharing confused glances, all the way down several flights of steps to a rather fancy, very gold as usual, suite. There are drinks laid out on the table.</p><p>“Sit down, please. I’m gonna flash to the depot, and you might need a drink for this.”</p><p>“Flash to the depot?” he asks Nebula under his breath.</p><p>“A really terrible equivalent to cut to the chase.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>He takes a seat, an oddly comfortable one at that, and inspects his drink. It’s gold. Not solid gold, but an almost lava-like gold substance swirling around in his glass. He tries it anyway. He’s gotten used to doing that.</p><p>“Please, proceed,” Nebula says in her voice most diplomatic and most dramatic at the same time, which is often quite a sight to behold. Or perhaps not a sight. You get the idea.</p><p>“Right,” Cait sighs, and downs her drink in one. Tony can see the liquid travelling down her throat right through her skin. Odd, but honestly, by now not unexpected. “Basically, the fact that this city is hollow has been hidden for centuries, simply for the fact that every couple of years or so, Daylifters come.”</p><p>“Daylifters?”</p><p>“That’s just a surname. They’re a horribly extensive family of pirates who take particular joy in pillaging us, of all people.”</p><p>“Why you?”</p><p>“We don’t have an army, we are by law a peaceful city, and they like to take advantage of that. Also, as you’ve probably seen, we have a lot they want to pillage. They take absolutely everything. Have you seen the abandoned shops? What dreams am I trying to live, of course you have. Businesses that couldn’t get back up after.”</p><p>She drags a hand, heavy with gold rings, over her eyes and holds the other out for a refill. A porter appears out of what looks like nowhere but Tony suspects is just the shadows, and tops up her glass. She downs it again, and Tony watches, almost mesmerised, as it travels down her throat and into her stomach, visible even through flesh and bone and skin.</p><p>“So you hide out here and just let them pillage your stuff?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He shares a look with Nebula. Cait doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“Okay, Cait, look at me. You’ve never even tried to drive them away.”</p><p>“Their strength is the most notorious in the galaxy. Even if we tried, I doubt we could.”</p><p>“You’ve never tried to put up defenses, that's not militant.”</p><p>“If you can come up with any that’ll actually keep them out, then sure.”</p><p>Tony’s not quite sure what to say. He’s never met this level of sheer defeat in his life. He’s never known someone to give up just this easily, and he can’t say he blames her. His mouth opens to say something to her, but her butler comes in and ushers her out, glaring at them just once, and they are left alone. As quickly as that, in a place they have no knowledge of. It’s not exactly the first time.</p><p>“So,” he says, somewhat defeatedly.</p><p>“So.” She responds, and peers, scrutinising, at the door. “Let’s go?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The people are just as dejected as Cait, if not more. Some of them are drinking away their sorrows, some of them weeping in corners, or clinging to each other, or anything of the like that he’s seen too many times before to count. It reminds him uncannily, though, of one of his first Iron Man stints, and the kids cowering away, either from him, or from the Ten RIngs. He couldn’t tell, and still can’t in his memory. Perhaps it’s always been like that.</p><p>One that stands out is a woman, one he saw yesterday, he thinks. Emari, if he can remember correctly. The spines on her three hands seem to be wilting, and she stands, motionless, back up against the wall. There is not a thing Tony can decipher from her demeanour. He nods to Nebula, who’s talking to one of the chess players, and walks tentatively over to her.</p><p>“Emari, right?”</p><p>She nods, looking somewhat surprised.</p><p>“What’s going on?” He needs to hear it, candid, from someone who isn’t the mayor or horrifically rich.</p><p>“Our city gets destroyed and we rebuild back up. Some of us fail. That is what is going to happen.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “I do not know if I will succeed. That is what happens. Our mayor hasn’t exactly done anything about it. No defenses, no help with the rebuilding. There’s something about wealth that means once you’re wallowing in it, you just want more and more. That’s what Cait is. She’s a good mayor, but she doesn’t help in places she can.”</p><p>Obie pops up into Tony’s mind, and then his own face, his own form, standing before a crowd and declaring his weapons division defunct. Declaring, with Peter cheering for him quietly in the back, that he was going to end global water shortage once and for all. He did, and he hopes so much that he hasn’t done exactly that, exactly what Emari is condemning so harshly. And rightly, his mind supplies unhelpfully.</p><p>“Do you know who I am?” He asks. He never had to ask that on Earth, and there’s something nice about anonymity out here. </p><p>“I do not.”</p><p>“Have you heard of Tony Stark and his flying armour?”</p><p>“Vaguely.”</p><p>“I’m not going to let it happen, okay?”</p><p>She looks sceptical, and then she laughs, turning away. The spines on her neck wilt too, as if she’s already given up. He wonders she probably has.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>She walks away.</p><p>Time seems almost to pass terribly slowly as he rushes up the stairs, Nebula in tow, just as Cait walks out onto a platform to deliver a speech that will almost definitely be complete nonsense. Most of her pledges, by both the sound of things and the news, are.</p><p>“People of Opiran,” she says in a tongue Tony’s only just mastered as they spiral upwards and upwards. Her words are muffled through the walls. “A great enemy has come upon us today, and I lament your suffering, and I, along with it, weep for the city.” Just like he suspected, ridiculous.</p><p>They reach the top of the stairs.</p><p>“But! After this, we will be so much stronger, as a city, as a community. We will rebuild from this, great and mighty and wonderful. We always have, we always will.”</p><p>They rush along a corridor, Nebula muttering under her breath what a load of lies the speech is.</p><p>“This is what makes a great city, this is what will always make us great.”</p><p>Being ruined makes a great city? The irony almost makes him laugh. Being ruined didn’t make him a great person, what the hell is it going to do to a city like this. Cait’s either delusional, or horribly intelligent. Or both.</p><p>They sprint along another corridor, and another, turning corners onto more identical corridors and more identical corners.</p><p>“We will, like the Phoenix of Mount Heliox, rise from the ashes, greater than ever before.”</p><p>There’s a door, up ahead, Tony’s sure it’s the one. Gilded and intricate, as all of Cait’s doors are.</p><p>“We shall not let this beat us down. We never have before, and this is not when we will start.”</p><p>He opens it, with some difficulty, and there she is. His lungs burn, and his eyes burn too. He’s not sure what the combination means, but he’s going to do something with all that rage stored there anyway.</p><p>“We have, and will always be, a-” Tony, takes the mic, and she’s in too much shock to take it back. The crowd lets out a gasp, all slightly out of time with each other, which mostly just leaves scattered shocked noises ricocheting across the walls. The acoustics in here are brilliant.</p><p>“Look, people of Opiran, and don’t mean to talk your mayor down, but this city seriously needs reform. You can rebuild from this, sure, but why rebuild if you don’t have to, being broken down doesn’t make you stronger. The phrase ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ is a Terran saying, and it is blatantly untrue. All of this, all of this beauty and wonder and kindness I’ve seen over the last few days here, and you’re just going to let it be destroyed, and then you’re going to believe it makes the city better? Look-”</p><p>He takes a deep breath, and for the first time out of those sessions, face to face with the helmet, when it’s just him, all alone, he lets himself think properly, freely, of Peter. His eyes sting, but he feels something, he’s not sure what. It feels strong, it feels like how Tony suspects Peter feels swinging around Queens, and by God if it doesn’t make him want to do something. Anything.</p><p>“I know it’s not your fault, and there’s no time now to build defenses or anything of the like, so if there’s nothing to defend your city, I will. Thank you.”</p><p>The crowd roars, and he can’t tell what emotion that roar is supposed to signify. He wonders if he wants to know at all.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, Cait gave in, and so here they are.</p><p>The surface of the planet is smooth, almost slippery, Cait and Nebula walk on either side of him. They do not speak. This feels almost like a funeral procession, and he wants desperately to tell them he’s not going to die, but how can he if he can’t ensure it. He could die any second, if his heart decided just to do that thing where it does a big dramatic entrance, remembers that it’s supposed to have been almost destroyed by a certain curved shield he’d rather not think about, and decides to stop, condemning him to life support for a few weeks.</p><p>This is the first time he’s ever felt guilty about doing the superhero gig.</p><p>Peter- if Tony dies, he won’t come back, or he won’t ever see him again, and Tony, selfish as he is, can’t never see Peter again, not even if it saves a planet. And yet- he can’t let this city, so full of life and people who don’t deserve their life to be ruined, just be destroyed in a day for the sake of nothing. Absolutely nothing.</p><p>Ahead, above, lingering in the atmosphere, are three huge ships.</p><p>Should be easy. It won’t, he knows, but it helps to be positive, sometimes. Even if it’s not exactly his default state of mind.</p><p>He turns around, elects to ignore Cait, and hugs Nebula, hard. As tight as he can. He doesn’t look at her face. He doesn’t catch her eyes, for the first time in forever.</p><p>He takes off. It’s as natural as breathing, which, truth to be told, has often not been as easy as it should be, but he flows with the metal smoothly, comfortingly. He’s changed it so much in the last few months. Not the appearance or any of that, but he can move the metal almost like water now, and there’s so much more he can do with it. </p><p>Flying’s always exhilarating. This, this is where he can be free. He had to learn what flying actually meant, and it took a while, but here he is, and if he’s going to die here, which he hopes fervently he won’t, this is what he wants to be doing.</p><p>He’s survived everything up to this. He’s made a titan bleed. He’s battled for the universe. And he has much more to live for now.</p><p>But it’s Peter, it’s always Peter.</p><p>The ground disappears beneath him, he rises to meet three huge ships. They loom, and he grins. This, telling by the huge guns on the ship, won’t be as hard as he’d suspected.</p><p>He flies forward, and the fight begins naturally as it always has.</p><p>Blasts rain from his hands onto all vulnerabilities he can see, he flies between them, taunting, like a fly, buzzing irritatingly around their heads. Perhaps a wasp. He tempts them into a circle around him, the ease he moves with wouldn’t allow for it, but that’s his plan, so it happens. He can almost hear their sniggers at how easy this is.</p><p>All the ships shoot, at the same time. They shoot at him, and in doing so, they shoot at each other. Forget what Cait said about them being the strongest in the universe; they’re also the stupidest.</p><p>The ships fall, in almost slow motion, and slower, even slower than that, a blast flies towards him, he watches it inching towards him, and he thinks only of Peter.</p><p>In his mind’s eyes, his kid smiles that beaming smile where his eyes almost close up he’s smiling so wide as Tony litters him with somewhat shocked compliments over his idea for water purifiers. He sits, cross-legged, on the counter in the kitchen, making macaroni cheese, he laughs as he hits Tony hard with a pillow, he flicks rolled-up pieces of paper at the image of Harry and Ginny kissing on screen. He looks up in wonder at the BARF projections of the galaxy, he talks a mile a minute as they sit in an empty diner early in the morning, he sleeps, sprawled out on Tony himself. He presses his cold hand into Tony’s shaking one, and smiles.</p><p>The blast hits, and, with the ships, he falls.</p><p>Above, the stars shine, familiar now, but this scene is even more familiar, falling with the universe above him, and he can think of nothing but his kid.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Tony dreams of nothing that he can remember. That’s how it usually is with non-nightmares. As if the nightmares have taken so much precedence that happy dreams just aren’t up to scratch. Sometimes he wonders if he lives for the adrenaline of fear.</p><p>There was a time when Iron Man wasn’t just helping people. It was almost a suicide mission, if he thinks about it, an exhilaration in that adrenaline of fear, and an almost vicious hope that maybe he wouldn’t come back. And then there was a kid, and there was Rhodey, and Vision, and Happy and Pepper groaning at him in unison, and the aunt of a Spiderling, and the bots, and even another genius kid halfway across the world, and his bots, and FRIDAY, and goddamnit he wanted to live.</p><p>He doesn’t think he lives for the adrenaline of fear anymore.</p><p>And still, he dreams and he doesn’t remember, but the important thing is that dreaming is not forever.</p><p>He wakes, the sound of breathing by his side, humming a tune he recognises but can’t quite place in this place between sleeping and waking. He can feel Peter’s presence by his side, humming, can imagine him with his head rested against the back of the chair. He tries to speak, to say something to him, but his throat won’t cooperate.</p><p>His eyes flicker open.</p><p>It’s not Peter. Nebula sits here, looking more anxious than he’s ever seen her. She sees him, blinking blearily up at her, and her face lights up brighter than he’s ever seen it.</p><p>There’s a pang in his chest, that it isn’t his kid, but he is not disappointed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 97</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. "Ship's Log, the Benatar. Titan to Terra, Day 97. Earth Date 2018.</p><p>Begin recording.</p><p>Hello, Peter. At least, I think you are Peter. This took me a while to figure out but I am pretty sure this is what Tony uses to speak to you.</p><p>I am Nebula. If Tony was awake he would tell me to add Stark Cyborg-Smurf onto the end of that. He still hasn't explained what a Smurf is. Do you know?</p><p>Usually, he'd be doing this, right? Except he's asleep right now and pretty injured and o thought he wouldn't want to miss a day so I'm doing it. I'm not quite sure how to do a ship's log. When Tony does it is usually a mix of an outpouring of emotions and storytelling.</p><p>He is surprisingly good at that, you know? Storytelling. He's told so many stories in our journey across the universe. Ones that I'm almost certain are from those things he called movies. Or books.</p><p>And then he tells of you, Peter. I think- I don't know- I think he does not want you ever to be forgotten. I think that is why. He loves you more than I have ever seen someone love another person and you are not even here. I do not think I knew what it is to love someone through words, before.</p><p>I do not think I am the best person to say that though. I have not experienced much love before anyway.</p><p>I'd like to meet you, one day, Peter Parker. I do not know why. There are not many people I would wish to meet, but I think you are one of them.</p><p>I do not know you, but it feels like I do. You’ve got a good person to tell your story. They say he’s the storyteller, you know, in the far reaches of the universe, that’s what they call him. Not just equal of Gods, genius, et cetera. He’s etched you into all memories. Not many have such a person to sing their remembrance.</p><p>I would like to meet you, yes. Perhaps you could explain to me what Tony won’t – what is a smurf? I think you would be an interesting person. If you, as his son, or whatever kind-of-son thing you have going on with him, are anything like him, I’d definitely like to meet you.</p><p>I think it hurts him to say your name. He calls you Peter, when telling people of you, almost as if he wants everyone to know exactly who you are, but with me, on his own, you’re just his kid. I don’t know, I might be wrong. I am often wrong. Excuse it.</p><p>I am sorry he cannot speak to you right now. He is a self-sacrificing idiot, as you probably very well know. The city was under attack, and they do not have a military. He took it upon himself to be a one-man military. Which is a bit stupid, but he did it.</p><p>He fell from the sky. I’ve never seen someone important to me fall from the sky before. I guess people falling from the sky isn’t a very common occurrence. Neither is people being important to me, but that is another matter. I caught him. That suit is astonishingly heavy and I would like to never lift it in my life again, thank you. But he is alive, luckily. I do not think he would have let himself die anyway. Not without getting you back.</p><p>He says when we get back to Terra, we’ll get you all back. Says we will find a girl called Shuri, who he claims is smarter than him, and she will help. I think that is optimistic. She may not even be alive. And- I’m- I do not know when we will get back to Terra, if I am to be honest. He belongs at least partially to the stars now.</p><p>Wow, I feel oddly poetic. Wonderful. I wouldn’t say poetry is my strong suit.</p><p>Chess, though. I am better at that. I would like to play you one day. Tony says you are terrible, but I’ll leave that up to my own judgement. Not that I don’t trust his judgement but I’d like more people to play chess with.</p><p>I don’t know where you go after death. I’ve killed a lot of people but I’ve never really thought about it. Where are you? Tony thinks he can surpass all of that. I do not doubt him.</p><p>Wherever you are, though, say hello to my sister from me?” </p><p>Silence approximating 3 seconds. </p><p>“Right, um, I guess I’d better be going, got to, um- I think how he ends it is:</p><p>Hang in there, okay?</p><p>End recording.”</p><p>Static.</p><p>~</p><p>After the reunions and the congratulating and all the shenanigans it appears you have to go through if you’re the saviour of a city, which Tony really should have been aware of from past experiences, in her opinion, Nebula and Tony return to the apparently-BnB.</p><p>He sits on the bed, heavily and doesn’t speak for a while. He hasn’t spoken since Cait shoved him up onto a stage, voice amplified, and told him to say something inspirational.</p><p>A short laugh escapes him almost involuntarily, and they start to laugh, or perhaps giggle, until they can’t anymore. Nebula’s not quite sure why, but why not go along with it? Giggling is something she’s realised in the last few months is rather exhilarating.</p><p>“Well, that was horribly familiar. Deja vu taken to another level, no?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” she asks tentatively, leaning back against her bed to stare at the only half-rotting wood of the ceiling. She wonders why Cait couldn’t have put them up somewhere slightly less, well, dangerous for a start. It’s not like she doesn’t run a city and earn a hell of a load of money on the side. A beetle the size of her ist pokes its head out of a hole in the wood, sees them, and promptly disappears again. Are they really that terrifying? She supposes they must be, for something that small. She knows if she saw a beetle hundreds of times larger than her she’d be pretty terrified.</p><p>“Y’know. New York. Big portal. Ugly space battle chickens.”</p><p>“Right. Sorry for that.”</p><p>“So you’ve said. It wasn’t your fault, you know.”</p><p>She huffs a laugh, infused with an emotion she can’t quite decipher. Something between disbelief and resignation, perhaps. She’s getting better at that.</p><p>“Someone has to feel at least a little guilty for it.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean it has to be you.”</p><p>Slowly, her head turns to look at him, lying there on the bed opposite hers and staring at the ceiling. Does he think it’s about to collapse any moment? He must, he’s an engineer. </p><p>“Huh.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve, um, learnt that. Or, it’s been forced into my head by others. Same thing.”</p><p>“They were right.”</p><p>He looks at her in surprise.</p><p>“Maybe.” A pause. “Hey, when did we start spouting such deep shit? We should be celebrating, right? I just saved a city.”</p><p>He sits up, looking ready, though for what she’s not exactly sure. From his bag, he grabs a couple of gadgets he’s been working on and sits down again.</p><p>“You feel like celebrating?”</p><p>He laughs. There’s a certain sense of pride at making him laugh. She’s not sure why; never has she really considered herself a particularly comedic person.</p><p>“No. Let’s just stay here. Sleep. God knows I need sleep.”</p><p>“You’ve just slept for hours, you lazy.”</p><p>His eyebrow raises, though his head doesn’t. He adjusts something inside one of the gadgets, and then another tweak on the outside, and it springs to life. A tiny robot. Five-legged, it hops from his knee, huge eyes like binoculars peering around as its head swivels with a small whir. As it moves across the floor, it clatters on the floorboards, scaring a sleeping mouse, who quickly scuttles out and under the bookshelf. Climbing over the rug seems to prove quite a challenge for the little bot, but it reaches her bed eventually, tilting its huge eyes up to meet hers.</p><p>“Lazy what?”</p><p>“Chickpea.”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware chickpeas could be lazy.”</p><p>The bot nudges at her shin with its head. </p><p>“You’ve obviously never met a lazy chickpea then.”</p><p>“The worst kind of chickpea. Go ahead, pick them up.”</p><p>Gingerly, she lowers her hands to the ground, resting her knuckles on the floorboards which, if she’s being honest, are probably rotting as well. The robot’s legs knock into the edges of her fingers, but after some effort, it manages to climb into her hands. It fits so snugly into her palms, looking almost frail as it tucks its legs under itself and nuzzles the bridge of her thumb and forefinger. She didn't know something could trust so readily.</p><p>“Is it AI?”</p><p>“Yup. Kinda. They have a mind, if you know what I mean. What are you going to name them?” He speaks as if the bot is a human, or a living creature. She supposes he’s right.</p><p>“I’m not sure.” She pauses for a moment, just staring down at it as it sits, quite content, in the cradle of her hands. “What’s that huge planet in your solar system called again. Not the one with rings. The other one.”</p><p>“Jupiter?”</p><p>“That’s it.” She stares down at it, tiny and not at all as mighty or angry as a planet, especially that one, could be. Plus, not the same colour, but nevermind. It’s not got a colour yet, just metal, but Nebula thinks purple would suit it very well. “Jupiter. I think that works.”</p><p>Tony lets out a laugh, but he sits back cross-legged with a soft smile, watching them.</p><p>“Wait a sec- Tony. This is for me?”</p><p>“It is.”</p><p>She doesn’t know why she laughs, more of an amused exhalation than a laugh, but still a laugh.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“See it as a welcome to the family, I guess. Plus, I already have too many bots. Well, you can’t have too many bots, but you know what I mean.”</p><p>Perhaps she would respond, but the bot shakes itself slightly, unfolding their legs from under themself to attempt, unsuccessfully, to crawl up her shoulder, so she decides instead to help them achieve their goal. Tony doesn’t seem to mind. He turns back to him tinkering, but the smile stays.</p><p>~</p><p>Nebula wakes up the next morning with a pile of metal by her face. It’s certainly a surprise.</p><p>Then Jupiter notices her movement and stands up excitedly, as if already ready and raring to go for a new day. They’re not even a day old. </p><p>Or, they attempted to stand up. All they succeeded in doing was to topple themself off the bed, but Nebula appreciates the effort. She pokes her head off the side of the bed to see Jupiter on their back, legs waving in the air. She moves to set it upright, but a voice stops her.</p><p>“No, don’t do that. Let them learn.”</p><p>Tony, from across the room, looks up at her groggily. His voice is slurred with sleep and she doesn’t doubt the crash woke him up.</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>And surely, after a moment of wagging their legs, Jupiter seems to stop, thinking for a moment. Then, with some difficulty, they right themselves, staring up at her just as excitedly and as innocently as possible for a creature of metal and wires.</p><p>Tony smiles down at it.</p><p>“Good morning? Or perhaps good evening? Who knows? Time is fake,” he mumbles as he rights himself.</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>Nebula would help as he busies himself with getting up, but Jupiter has decided they would rather like to be on her shoulder again and who is she to prevent them from achieving their goals?</p><p>“Holy fucking what.” Tony deadpans, staring out of the window.</p><p>“As always, you have such a way with words, it’s just amazing.”</p><p>This time he doesn’t even answer. He just frowns this tiny, half confused, half amazed frown (if she’s correct, which isn’t the highest chance). Must be quite something out of the window. </p><p>It really is.</p><p>Despite the slight distortion from badly blown glass, down below from their fifth storey room, the street is chaos. It’s not the vaguely terrifying kind of chaos, with outright panic and shouts and the fear of not knowing what on earth is going on, but the kind of chaos where everything is random and colourful and nobody quite knows what is going on but it’s all in good will. </p><p>The colours are almost overwhelming. They fill every street corner, and across from them a banner advertises a new year carnival. She’d completely forgotten.</p><p>“It’s New Year?” Tony asks incredulously, as if he’d forgotten time is a thing, which honestly he may have.</p><p>“Apparently it is here. Happy New Year, I guess?”</p><p>He nods his head in a gesture of, if her instincts and growing social skills don’t deceive her, amused acceptance.</p><p>“Happy New Year.”</p><p>~</p><p>The New Year’s celebrations here are quite something to behold. They follow the impromptu carnival floats and happily chattering mass of people through the maze of streets to the town square, which has completely transformed overnight from your average town square to an explosion of colour. Nebula’s starting to question how long they were asleep.</p><p>Cait stands on a podium, confident as when they’d first met, as if the events of the last few days hadn’t happened at all. Her obsession with gold has extended to an explosion of cloth and feathers as a sort of elaborate collar reaches over a metre above her. It’s hard to look at.</p><p>She clears her throat, then goes off on a spiel of congratulations and praises of how wonderful the year has been and how wonderful the next will be as well. Her grin is bright and seems to spread to the masses as they chatter and laugh. Nebula dislikes Cait, this is for certain. She dislikes her, with her sugared words and overly decorative distractions, but she has to admit that Cait is impressive. Though her words may be horrific to an outsider, the power with which they enrapture and inspire the crowd is quite something. Nebula doesn’t quite understand how someone could simultaneously be a great and terrible leader, but people she meets have a habit of proving her wrong (see: the Guardians, Tony, Amadeus, literally every being she’s set eyes on other than her father).</p><p>The crowd seems to be satisfied as she steps down with a gracious nod, dispersing off to different stalls that have appeared, lining the square and the streets. Shopfronts advertise celebratory activities and discounts. Nebula is growing certain they slept for much longer than thought.</p><p>“Um, Tony?”</p><p>“Yes?” He turns for her from where he’s been marvelling at the soup that someone is stirring in a frankly vast tub with a spoon longer than she is tall.</p><p>“How long did we sleep?”</p><p>He looks down sheepishly.</p><p>“Well, you slept about three days. I was on and off. Mostly fixing round things and fiddling. Went out for a bit. Met with the spined lady I was telling you about. We had eggs and waffles. Um- I think you were kinda out of it. Cait told me you stayed up the whole time I was comatose. What was that? Two, three days?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He smiles, wide.</p><p>“Um- I- She also said you, um, did my recordings?”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I thought you wouldn’t want to miss it.”</p><p>He looks at her, head tilted, with a scrutinising expression. There’s an underlying emotion there that, even with her newfound abilities in recognising emotions, she can’t decipher.</p><p>“I- Thanks.”</p><p>“No problem. Shall we join the celebrations?”</p><p>“We shall.”</p><p>They do. It’s glorious. If Nebula hadn’t understood the meaning of that word before, she does now.</p><p>They dance in more places than they can count, they get bites to eat as a sort of stop-motion breakfast at tables from holes in the wall to grand restaurants, they talk and they celebrate even though they don’t quite know what they're celebrating.</p><p>They end up in a corner of the city, near the base, a place with a glass floor that means wherever she steps, Nebula gets a sort of lurching feeling in her stomach on thinking she’s about to step right through and fall down to the cavern floor below. The room is lit softly with candlelight, large with a nice acoustic and a long queue to the door.</p><p>It is empty, mostly, but right at the end, a huge vat stands, stirred by two men with paddles that look like they should be used more for rowing than mixing. They remind her of the soup vendors from earlier.</p><p>Tony seems more interested in the ceiling. She can see why. It arches up, high and then higher, stone beams crossing each other over and over in their path to the top. And right there, at the peak, is the universe. It lies, intricately painted, sprawled across the ceiling almost elegantly and hauntingly lifelike. She doesn’t know what to say, but then again, there aren;t usually quite the words for something like this.</p><p>They make their way along a carefully laid carpet. The embroidery, though she can only just make it out in the dark, details epic sagas, though in the corner she spots an embroidery of a man eating pancakes, seemingly unrelated to the rest. Apparently even embroiderers like to have a bit of fun with their art.</p><p>As they come closer, they rise up steps towards the vat, and stepping closer and closer, she can see right in. It’s quite a surprise.</p><p>She’s been expecting, perhaps, more soup, or some gold concoction in honour of Cait, or a potion they say gives you life but is more likely to give you food poisoning than anything else.</p><p>No. Inside, swirling along with their paddles as their stir rhythmically, is the universe. Like the ceiling, stars laid out in what appears to be a liquid, in some breathtaking feat of what she can’t decide is chemistry or magic.</p><p>Slowly, one of the men brings up their paddle and takes a scoop of space in a small cup. Nebula can’t tell if she’s dreaming. She’s starting, or perhaps not just starting, to think that people really have some very weird things as traditions. Apparently on Terra in a place called England people roll cheeses down hills and chase them for sport, and now this. They’re not quite the same, but the sentiment stands.</p><p>The cup is handed to a porter in a well-cut, probably-tailored suit, who escorts them into a room and sits them down before people with brushes and tools. Nebula is very confused. Confusion is very definitely not an uncommon emotion around others, she’s learnt. People are odd.</p><p>And then they get to work, and though she’s still confused, she forgets about it.</p><p>They paint the stars onto her, in long strokes of delicate brushes, until she’s covered in patterns made by the universe and she is deciding this is her favourite of any New Year’s traditions she knows.</p><p>Tony turns to her, features lined with swirls of galaxies, and smiles bright, almost brighter than the stars that adorn his skin.</p><p>They exit into the street, and Nebula wonders how, despite their confusing nature, people manage to amaze her, every time. Every single time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 124</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Terra-slash-Earth Day 124. Earth date 2018, I think?</p>
<p>Begin recording.</p>
<p>Hey, kid. God, I never know how to start these, do I? I just kinda stumble over a hello then rant for a while. So, basically my usual speech.</p>
<p>We went to Kjartan today. I went around calling it tartan, like the cloth, until I talked to the mayor and they had to correct me, which was just wonderful. They didn’t seem very bothered. There’s a silent k in there. Try and guess where. God this’ll sound ridiculous if it’s ever transcripted.</p>
<p>I’ve only just realised, but- I think this is the only time I actually speak English anymore. I didn’t even realise I was saying an actual word in English.  I know so many languages, and this one is starting to feel a little rusty. I hope I don’t forget. No, I won’t forget, I promise. I know it’s kinda a stupid thing to promise but oh well, here you are. Maybe I’ll ask Neb if we can talk in English a bit more. Imagine no knowing the word xylophone. Blasphemy. If there’s one word I’m not going to forge, it’ll be xylophone.</p>
<p>Oh god, remember that band you started? With all my interns? I didn’t even know until I was working with the prosthetics department and you came in and shouted Avengers Assemble. And all these instruments appeared out of nowhere and played the Star Wars theme tune? I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused in my life. You were on keyboard, remember, Frances was on xylophone, even Sergio had a tambourine. I don’t think my ears quite recovered for weeks.</p>
<p>Next time, include me, okay? I’ve perfected the banjo by now. Space banjo. I don’t know what it’s called, but in Delaranian it’s just *guttural sound*. I know, doesn’t sound like the nicest of instruments but the music is beautiful. And when I say I’ve mastered it I’ve just about worked out how to play it, but I’m getting there.</p>
<p>Smurf’s teaching Jupiter how to play this miniature violin thing we bought in a night market on Kjartan. It’s about the length of my first finger, at max, the violin. Tiny. So now my days and nights are haunted by shrill and vaguely incompetent folk fiddle, which I suppose is better than nothing. Wait, you might be able to hear it.” Silence approximating 6 seconds. Very faint, shrill violin music can be heard. “It’s not the worst sound I could be hearing. They’re getting better.</p>
<p>Kjartan was odd. The gravity’s less than Earth, and you would expect moving to be easier if you’re not impeded by it, but it was actually more difficult. Steps take ages. Would not recommend.</p>
<p>Their skyscrapers are amazing though - structures hundreds of metres tall made entirely of cloth, stretched over iron frames. Because of the lesser gravity, structures don’t need to be so, well, structured, because not so much weight has to be supported, and we could move about the buildings easily without their material becoming a problem. Makes decorating easier.</p>
<p>They sew their appliances to the floor, you know? Between each wall or ceiling or floor of cloth, there are gaps, and that's where all the electricity and sewage goes. It's ingenious.</p>
<p>It was weird stepping back onto the ship from the planet, because we have the artificial gravity set to somewhere between our gravity and Heltherean gravity, which are barely different, and it’s like suddenly you weigh 3000 kilograms more coming off Kjartan gravity. Really weird. Finally, the weight of my sins. Hah.</p>
<p>Hey, I remembered where that quote I keep telling people comes from. Mostly void, partially stars. They seem to like it, I think.</p>
<p>It's from that podcast, isn't it? What was it called. Welcome to something or other. With that guy who seemed completely fine with all the crazy shit going on in his little town in the desert. Night Vale, was it?</p>
<p>I just remember you came into the lab through the window one day when it was snowing, wearing headphones. And I was gonna tell you off for not just climbing up the Tower in the snow, but wearing headphones whilst swinging, but you had the hugest little grin on at whatever you were listening to and I just didn't have the heart. I don't know how you managed to be so fucking adorable, kid, seriously. It can't be healthy.</p>
<p>Like us, that quote. Sailing through space and that weird void between stars. We're here in the middle of nowhere, brains mostly filled with nonsense and unintelligible chaos, and just a little bit of hope, right? I don't know. I'm not good with deep shit.</p>
<p>I wonder if the podcast guys are still alive. I hope they are. You've missed so many episodes now, I bet. FRI should have saved them for you. Remember, Butterfingers got obsessed with it as well and you teamed up to ask her?</p>
<p>You're so polite. I don't even know how, I swear, kid.</p>
<p>Hell, if you were here you'd probably be sitting with Jupiter and their terrible violin and telling them it's an absolute masterpiece. 'Cause that's just you kid. And I love you for it, for some reason. And I'm gonna get you back, okay? So you can do just that. And you can somehow continue to be an absolute delight to all humankind. And me, especially. You seem to be very particular about that. God, kid, I love you, so much. Just-</p>
<p>Hang in there, okay?</p>
<p>End recording."</p>
<p>Static.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Malzharian’s towers rise so high above them, Tony’s pretty sure even the most distant peaks he can see aren’t the tops. They’re swathed in clouds at their peaks and mist at their, rising out of the barren earth like ancient giants.</p>
<p>They're shaped like them too, huge towers of stone in the shapes of long-dead warriors. Their bodies aren't quite human, limbs too long and figures too stretched out. They have only two fingers, of dark granite, and they stand, heads down, staring at their feet.</p>
<p>It's like some sort of long-abandoned memorial to a civilisation that hasn't graced this planet for many years. He wonders if they ever existed, or if these are just gods, or merely fragments of alien imaginations who, like humans, longed for some benevolent overseer.</p>
<p>Either way, they're pretty intimidating. Nebula, beside him, makes a small surprised sound in her throat as they approach. He turns to glance at her for a second. Eyes determined, her head tilted up to stare right into the eyes of the closest statue, as if trying to tell it she's not at all intimidated. He both admires her bravery and wonders why.</p>
<p>They approach the feet of giants, two tiny mortals with their ship off behind them and something, which they know an honest nothing of, ahead. Tony huffs a laugh.</p>
<p>"That's quite something."</p>
<p>"You don't say," Nebula replies, sending him a short grin. "In?"</p>
<p>They step in.</p>
<p>They'd expected to have to walk up hundreds of steps inside some ancient god's calf to reach anything, but, thank whoever these huge revered people are, there's a lift.</p>
<p>Now, the problem is, lifts are liminal spaces, thresholds between places, and Tony does not like liminal spaces one bit. It's the standing around and not doing anything, and the undefinedness, that really gets to him. And the lift music.</p>
<p>Apparently, these people have taste. The music is remarkably similar to his tastes. Mirrors on opposite walls reflect thousands of them back at each other, and Nebula grins at him in one of those thousands of versions of himself. A vague thought, one that feels befitting in its vagueness to a lift, that perhaps lifts are the gateways to the multiverse, enters his mind and promptly leaves again.</p>
<p>There’s a thrumming through the floor. It’s been there for a while now, growing ever stronger, vibrating through the lift in a very confusing manner. Tony can’t fathom what may be causing it, and by now, with this long spent in the galaxy, he’s learnt not to be bothered by that kind of ignorance. It’ll come in due time.</p>
<p>Finally, the doors open with a slow sound that feels like it should be the usual sound of lifts, perhaps a whir, even, but is instead a soft humming. Curious.</p>
<p>The corridor before them is wide, all sharp edges and clean metal and spotless surfaces. There are no doors, bar one right at the end adorned with a plaque Tony can’t quite make out. He shares a glance with Nebula, who shrugs again, and strides forward unperturbed.</p>
<p>Honestly, Tony can’t fathom why he’s here. They’d been invited, in a rather nicely laid out (in his opinion) letter, to this graveyard of ancient deities. The whole thing had been rather vague. He gets the feeling either they’re reluctant to talk about it, or they themselves aren’t quite sure what they’re talking about anyway.</p>
<p>As they advance, Tony can see that the plaque says, in Adderyaan script, MpHs Jejala-Flintoch-Mace. He doesn’t know much about Malzharian naming systems, but what he does know is the MpHs, Meripheld’s Prize for Highest Science, is extremely rare, and he is, very probably, in the presence of a genius. Which still gives him no idea what to expect, despite the fact that the floor is now almost violently vibrating and distorting his vision just a little. Nebula opens the door and pushes through.</p>
<p>Had a hand not shoved dark glasses onto his face at that exact moment, he’s pretty sure he would have been blinded. Even with the glasses, it’s so bright it takes his eyes time to adjust.</p>
<p>When they do, they open to see a large room, circular with a huge, transparent, cylindrical tube in the centre, reaching from floor to ceiling and taking up most of the space in the room. Beside him stands a person, who he assumes is MpHs Jejala-Flintoch-Mace, peering at him through their own dark glasses. Surrounding the cylinder is the most impressive array of scientific instruments Tony has ever seen, a chaos of holograms and contraptions he couldn’t begin to name. </p>
<p>What takes centre stage, however, is what resides in the cylindrical tube. If Tony’s not quite mistaken, though he may be, it seems to be, well, a star.</p>
<p>He stares in shock for a moment.</p>
<p>“What.”</p>
<p>The person beside him laughs.</p>
<p>“Hello, Dr Stark, Ms Nebula. Nice to see you’ve finally arrived. Why didn’t you use the doorbell?”</p>
<p>“There was a doorbell?” Nebula asks in surprise, turning to the presumably-MpHs scholar.</p>
<p>“Oh yes. Just at the left ankle. Did you miss it?”</p>
<p>“Um. I hate to break it to you, MpHs, but the foot’s a little dirty.”</p>
<p>They laugh, moving over to a contraption which slides dark screens over the probably-star. Relieved, Nebula takes off her glasses, only to slide them right back on with a small shiver.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’d keep those on. It’s a pity about that. I’ll have to get someone to clean them. I’m MpHs Jejala-Flintoch-Mace, but my very few and far between friends call me Flintoch.”</p>
<p>“I’m-” </p>
<p>“I know who you are.”</p>
<p>They smile and hold out a hand. It's one of four, long and thin and protruding from their slight form in ways which feel almost wrong. Their hair seems to be alive, fleshy and a tan colour and moving of its own accord. He takes their hand and nods, stepping back to let Nebula shake in turn.</p>
<p>“So, it’s very nice to meet you and all, but is that a star?” Nebula asks head tilted towards its shaded form with a slight smile.</p>
<p>“It is indeed. Well spotted. Took years, but I’ve finally created the first completely accurate, self-sustaining star. Red dwarf, close replica of this system’s smaller one.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>They laugh, a short and harsh sound, though it’s not unpleasant.</p>
<p>“A lot of very complicated physics I am not going to explain. You can look through my just-published papers if you like. They were publicised in the Scientific Literature corner of the Galactic Web, I think, and they should be available somewhere. Not sure where, but you’ll find them if you’re really desperate.” Flintoch nods, seemingly satisfied, and turns to a screen, tapping once before turning back.</p>
<p>“Right, now. I called you here for a reason, so let’s get down to that, shall we?”</p>
<p>Tony wants to say they haven’t even had the introductory tea he was planning yet, or comment on the vastness of their achievement, or even ask something of the giant statues, but instead he follows them, slightly shaken by their blunt tone.</p>
<p>“Okay, so. I made this star for my own purposes, of course, mostly curiosity, but that is not the only function. Malzharian has had great power shortages for the last few decades, and, to cut to the chase, I would like you to find a way to gather energy from my star to supply to the planet. If you can’t, fine. If you can, I’ll pay you and you’ll get, I don’t know, honour or whatever. Deal or no deal?”</p>
<p>“What? Uh. Deal?”</p>
<p>Nebula chuckles beside him and holds out a hand.</p>
<p>“Whilst he’s pulling himself together, I’ll shake for him. Deal. Nice to be working with you.”</p>
<p>For the first time, Flintoch smiles, and just like that she reminds him oddly of Sybil Trelawney.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>“So, they basically want me to build a Dyson sphere.”</p>
<p>He and Nebula sit across from each other in what seems to be Flintoch’s kitchen, around a large metal table adorned, for some reason, with a gingham tablecloth. Jupiter, returned from his hiding spot in Nebula’s scarf at the sheer brightness, is sitting curled up on the table and watching them with his huge eyes whirring slightly every few seconds, as they refocus.</p>
<p>“What’s a Dyson sphere?”</p>
<p>“Basically, this guy ages ago on Terra was wondering how alien civilisations got power and came up with the idea that they could surround the sun with a structure that captures its power and can be used for a civilisation, either on the structure or not. Like the sun in a ball.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Nebula takes a bite of sandwich. Flintoch’s kitchen is woefully lacking in any interesting or edible foods, but Nebula has managed to conjure up a sandwich she’s pretty sure won’t kill them, though they can’t be too sure. It’s oddly delicious, despite having some sort of motor oil in it that Tony thinks tastes a little like cyanide. It is, however and though it pains him to admit it, a lot better than any of DUM-E’s smoothies. He’s working on it, though, he’s working on it. He tries not to think about DUM-E, or Butterfingers, or U. Oddly, he misses them almost as much as the people.</p>
<p>“You think you can do it.”</p>
<p>“Sure. Give me three days.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It takes four, but, eventually, it’s done.</p>
<p>Tony’s not even sure how he did it. He’s only 43% certain he actually ate anything, though Nebula brought in increasingly inedible-looking sandwiches at various points when she came to offer help. The days pass in a confusion of diagrams and numbers and synthesised materials, and Tony falls asleep on top of an only-just-finished prototype.</p>
<p>Flintoch is ecstatic. There is much smiling and rewarding and god knows what else, but Tony really doesn’t have his head in the game, because for the whole time, he’s pretty sure he’d fall asleep immediately on Nebula’s shoulder if given the chance, and he can’t feel his fingers.</p>
<p>It’s only when they’re on a train to the city that he actually allows himself to fall asleep on Nebula’s shoulder. She doesn’t seem to mind. He’s recently introduced her to killer sudokus, and in the three days since, she’s created a program that writes its own killer sudokus for her, and has been completing them religiously. Jupiter, bless his little metallic soul, helps where he can, though he gets more in the way than actually offering anything productive. Nebula doesn’t seem to mind. </p>
<p>When he wakes, she’s still tapping away at her sudokus, Jupiter now asleep on the table in front of them. The train’s still moving, now passing through mountains that reach high, vertical and with glittery, jagged rocks and methane-snow, juddering slightly under them at various intervals.</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>Nebula jumps, jolting his head into her ear painfully, then turns to him with a smile.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he says, both sleepy and apologetic.</p>
<p>“Don’t apologise. You’ve just supplied power to an entire planet.”</p>
<p>“True. Still. Where are we?”</p>
<p>“Arriving at the city in a little while. They’re gonna know it’s you, you know? Flintoch might be a recluse but even they have access to the Galactic Hub.”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he says, halfheartedly and with none of the commitment he usually adds into his swearing.</p>
<p>“Oh well. They can deal with that. I want to go to the street food market Maeran and his fish-people recommended. I have no idea when they would have come here, but apparently it’s good, so let’s give it a go?”</p>
<p>Nebula nods, and Tony can’t tell the first thing about what she’s thinking. It’s not a feeling he’s always been comfortable with. There have been times in his life when he’s been desperate to know what everybody is thinking at all moments, but now is not one of them. There’s an awkwardness in having absolutely no idea what is going on in someone’s mind but he knows Nebula so well it’s not quite that extreme, and he trusts her. It’s about trust, really. Most things seem to be. </p>
<p>As it turns out, he doesn’t even need to ponder over what she’s thinking, because speaking her mind has recently become something she’s testing out alongside the sudoku, and she has a tendency to voice her thoughts, on occasion.</p>
<p>“Do you ever think about the sheer vastness of the universe?”</p>
<p>“That’s deep. Uh, yeah. Sometimes.”</p>
<p>She laughs, dry but amused.</p>
<p>“It’s just so big and we’re so small and this planet is so small, and there’s so much neither of us will ever see, though it’s there anyway, whether we’re there to witness it or not.”</p>
<p>“Hey, there’s this book, it’s called the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams. I think you’d like it. Anyway, in the second book, this guy called Zaphod is sentenced to death, but the method is being shown his nothingness in comparison to the universe, and it's supposed to kill him. Which is kind of a terrifying thought.”</p>
<p>She shrugs, starting a new sudoku. It looks difficult, but Tony’s never been very good at sudokus, no matter how hard he tries. He can design them fine, but solving them? No chance.</p>
<p>“At least it means nothing I do really matters. I mean, even after the Snap, life just continued as normal, no. The universe will adapt eventually.”</p>
<p>“Hey, are you saying you’re not going to make a difference, because I guarantee you are. Even a small one. Maybe you’ll move a snail from the way of an incoming foot. See, saved a life.”</p>
<p>Again, she chuckles, glancing at him in amusement and back at her sudoku, which looks like it could be used as a murder weapon if intellectual demise was a thing.</p>
<p>“Yeah, saving lives is so easy. Kill someone who might have killed many bugs, and you’ve saved all those bugs’ lives, no?”</p>
<p>“Totally. Eating cake could prevent someone else getting food poisoning from that piece of cake, and dying from stomach infection. You buying a paperclip could stop them pricking their finger on it, getting rust in their bloodstream and then dying of tetanus.”</p>
<p>“Every day, you unknowingly save hypothetical lives. Saviour to all beings, you are.”</p>
<p>“Admittedly, this wasn’t where I expected the conversation to go, but I’m not complaining.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The city is called Haldon, which makes it sound like some small, unremarkable town in the south of England. In reality, it’s anything but.</p>
<p>The train emerges from the mountains onto a vast, desert plain, and there, before them, are statues of long-gone gods, almost exactly the same as before. Except this time they glow, light from the city boroughs within emerging from windows and balconies, and Tony thinks it’s oddly beautiful.</p>
<p>He still has absolutely no idea who the hell these giant statue people are, but he’ll roll with it just for the sight of something like this, shining like a beacon across the land.</p>
<p>The train does not, in fact, go all the way to the city. It comes to a shuddering halt just at the foot of the mountain, at a tiny station manned by a guard who looks like they haven't been fully awake at any time in at least the last thirty years. It’s more rickety than Tony thought a building could actually be, creaking even as he takes just a step onto it, groaning so much under the meagre weight of the both of them that Tony has serious concerns about its effectiveness as even a simple structure. It’s a wonder it hasn’t collapsed yet. As they make their way towards the ticket booth, a green roof tile clatters to the floor from the sheer movement, followed by another. Tony has the urge to strangle whoever designed this train station, but now is not the time for strangling.</p>
<p>The guard looked up as Tony and Nebula approach, as if surprised that anybody was actually on the train. Once, they blink, eyes bleary, three still dozing off as his second head slumps against his shoulder in what looks like a rather uncomfortable position. It’s not like Tony would know, though; he’s never had to deal with having two heads. Would it be annoying, or useful? He’s not sure.</p>
<p>They walk up to the city. They’re tired, of course, but it’s not a problem. In fact, it’s relaxing, walking across the barren earth in the deep stillness of the night, up towards the looming figures of the city. </p>
<p>Out here, the cosmos is so wide. There’s no other way to put it, really. Tony’s spent his life in places plagued with light pollution, stars barely distant specks. Here, he can see every pinprick of a star, clear as day. Or, more accurately, night, but he’ll let idioms be idioms. Nebula, despite her extensive history with the whole of the universe, seems enraptured. It feels almost a different experience seeing them from the ground as from the ship. Of course, he has no idea what any of the constellations are given that they change from planet to planet, but the statement still stands.</p>
<p>Once again, just like before, they come to the feet of the stone giants, this time bathed in a soft blue light from their windows. They tower above them and Tony, to be honest, doesn’t feel at all intimidated. Would it even be possible to intimidate him anymore? He can’t decide if that’s sad or not.</p>
<p>This time, there’s no doorbell, no creaky door to swing open on an entrance hall overtaken by plants, no lift with old and actually passable music to spend at least ten minutes waiting for in slow descent. He’d thought a scientist could perhaps upgrade their own lifts, but apparently not. He supposes she’s an astrophysicist, and anyway, it doesn’t quite work like that.</p>
<p>There’s a huge archway at the foot of the first statue they come to, as if someone has decided that this giant’s heel was just Not Good Enough and sliced it off, leaving an opening where they shouldn’t be one. He feels sorry for the heelless giant.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, his sorrows do not stay with the heelless giant for long, moving over to the sad removal of everything and anything that could be classified as internal organs, blood, or even flesh. The giant’s still stone, but it’s really the sentiment that matters.</p>
<p>Because, where once may have been a body, the whole formation has been hollowed out, unlike Flintoch’s barely-used stone figure, and he realises that these monuments are really just shells for the mighty civilisations inside. A city crawls up what he supposes would be the skin, buildings clinging to the edge and walkways hanging on the edge of the huge, cavernous space; they sprawl like some beautiful parasitic colony, though he knows that’s an oxymoron, across a space that used to be a titanic being. </p>
<p>It’s oddly cathartic to see the result of someone’s guts being pulled out and replaced with a city, even if it’s a brutal thought and he’s not sure why there’s a satisfaction that comes along with it in the first place. For a moment, he takes a vindictive pleasure in imagining this done to Thanos. A little vengeful imagination never hurt anyone.</p>
<p>Nebula lets out a little ‘hm’ sound, which he supposes is the most he’ll get of wonder, but her eyes portray something else. Though Tony’s never been much of an artist, unless you count his science as an art (and he does), he can’t deny the soft blue lighting for the city is spectacular.</p>
<p>“That’s quite something,” he says involuntarily, a statement he feels has been repeated so many times in the last few months that it's left a visible trail across the universe. Not that the places don’t deserve it, but it leaves him wondering why everything on Earth is just slightly too bland in comparison. Not counting Wakanda. He’s only ever been on short diplomatic missions but the architecture is something Tony finds himself comparing every intergalactic city to its towering beauty. This place certainly measures up.</p>
<p>“You’re not wrong.”</p>
<p>The guard at the gate comes over to them, removing a large cigar from his mouth that Tony is pretty certain is alive, judging by the way it curls around his finger with, if Tony is hearing correctly, a snore.</p>
<p>“Hey, visitors. You’ve caught us on a good day. First time the city’s been full brightness for a while. Not many people see it, being up there already, but it’s pretty amazing,” he says, with a smile up at the city that seems almost proud. </p>
<p>“It is.”</p>
<p>The guard turns to him with a nod, but pauses on seeing his face, eye widening.</p>
<p>“Oh. You’re- Tony Stark?”</p>
<p>“Yup.”</p>
<p>The guard nods, slowly, dipping his head with a movement that reminds Tony of a pigeon.</p>
<p>“Okay, a word of warning, because I don’t really believe in the gods and I’m actually thankful for you and that scientist out in the Oldlands bringing us power. You’re not welcome here. It’s not that we’ve got anything against you. It’s just that people really hate the scientist.”</p>
<p>“Flintoch.”</p>
<p>He nods again, large eye fixing intensely on Tony’s left. He turns to speak to Nebula, this time, which Tony’s thankful for. His gaze is rather intimidating.</p>
<p>“Right. Her.”</p>
<p>“Them,” Nebula says immediately.</p>
<p>“Oh. yeah, sorry. Gotta stop assuming. I used to without thinking but recently my now-niece has told us she’s a girl and I know I’ve been a bit of a dick in the past, but I’m trying to reform. She’s the light of my life.” He takes a moment to pause with a small smile. “Sorry, what was I saying?”</p>
<p>Honestly, Tony doesn’t blame him. The number of times he’s been sidetracked telling people about Peter would make that more than a little hypocritical.</p>
<p>“Flintoch.”</p>
<p>“Right, right, yeah, sorry. Um. She- they, sorry- live out in what is called the Oldlands. The big statues? From what I know, they’re a tradition of worship here. Some people say they’re the real incarnation of the gods, but, well-” he nods his head towards the city “- not really a nice thing to do to a god. The statues here are the new gods. After whatever they call the reformation of the religion here, the old gods were abandoned and these new ones were brought in. People are very loyal to them.”</p>
<p>He pauses for a moment and shrugs.</p>
<p>“I don’t blame them. People want to believe there are benevolent gods out there, the old ones were- less benevolent. Not bad, but they acted more like humans. Made their mistakes, you know. These ones are more distant but also more reliable. The rejection of the old gods, though, means people dislike, even detest the Oldlands. Not a lot of people, almost all are fine, good people, but enough to put you in danger here. Which statues you live in tends to show your alliances, there’s a lot of resentment for the scientist, in certain circles. Flintoch, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Nebula responds, frowning at her hands. She doesn’t seem particularly upset by the news, just confused.</p>
<p>“So, what should we do?”</p>
<p>“Do you have any way to hide your identities?”</p>
<p>“Sure. Why are you telling us this?”</p>
<p>The guard, sighs, raising a two-fingered hand to scratch at the back of his neck. In that moment, Tony thinks he seems so very real. It’s a weird feeling, given that reality is always real (or is it), but he still, for a moment, grasps the scope of the amount of consciousness in the universe. He feels sorry for whatever gods do or don’t exist, presiding over it all.</p>
<p>“That city you saved from pirates? Opiran?”</p>
<p>“Mhm?”</p>
<p>“That’s where my little niece lives. There’s split custody, so she’s here or there or on Andterghast with one of her parents. She was in the city when you, you know…”</p>
<p>Tony blinks. The guard smiles a sheepish smile.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he says. He’s about to say something else, but Nebula steps forward with a small smile.</p>
<p>“So you’re just as grateful to him as I am. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Rathmo.”</p>
<p>“I’m Nebula. It’s nice to meet you, Rathmo.”</p>
<p>His large face splits into a wide smile and he holds out a hand, which Nebula takes with a widening smile. Jupiter scuttles out from her scarf and holds out a leg, which Rathmo shakes with the greatest care.</p>
<p>“You too. Who’s this?”</p>
<p>“This is Jupiter. Tony made him, but he prefers me.”</p>
<p>Rathmo turns to him with an inquiring glance, and all he can do is shrug with a proud smile. Something here reminds him painfully of Butterfingers and Peter’s unexpected but unquantifiably wholesome connection.</p>
<p>“It’s true.”</p>
<p>Rathmo smiles knowingly at Tony for a moment, as if he understands perfectly, and honestly, hearing him talk about his niece, he thinks he probably does.</p>
<p>“Well, hello Jupiter.”</p>
<p>Jupiter beeps a series of happy beeps that Tony’s language-tired brain can’t find the energy to translate from morse code, but from the way Nebula smiles, it’s something undeniably positive.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Tony says, without really thinking. He’s not quite sure how he got here, at the entrance to a shining city in a stone giant in the middle of a desert, in outer space, watching his pseudo-daughter introduce a robot to a man they met ten minutes ago, but he’s grateful.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 132</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Static. “Ship’s Log, the Benatar. Titan to Terra-slash-Earth Day 132. Terran Date possibly 2018.</p>
<p>Begin recording.</p>
<p>Hey, kid. We’re currently in a small apartment in a city inside the body of a god. </p>
<p>Well, a stone statue of a god, but it’s big enough to be one. Honestly, I don’t know what a god would look like. I’ve never seen one. Thanos was probably as close as we’re gonna get to a deity and I was taught by my Catholic secondary school that God is benevolent, which is about the exact opposite of Thanos. </p>
<p>Actually, now that I think about it, Amadeus was kinda like a god. You know, the huge blue guy from that unpronounceable planet?</p>
<p>It doesn’t matter, really, does it? Thanos still won, and here we are. Or here I am, and there you are, out there somewhere. No, out there, I hope to all available hopes. Now I just gotta bring you here, no?</p>
<p>These are definitely gods though. There’s this whole weird thing about these god statues we’re in right now being the New Gods and the ones Flintoch was in being the Old Gods and hated by some of the New Gods followers, so that’s fun. Even though they brought back all the energy, she’s still disliked. Which is kinda unfair.</p>
<p>They’re spectacular, really, the gods. They glow, like beacons in the desert and we’re drawn towards them with every movement. Like moths. Enveloping the city, light seeps through every opening and illuminates them under the night sky and they really are spectacular. </p>
<p>Here, they’re clean, cared for and as pristine as a bustling city can be. Where the Old Gods were a home to decay and decades-old plants, the New Gods are home to all these people. I think you’d like it here. We only got here a few hours ago and Rathmo let us up here straight away, so I haven’t seen much, but what I have seen is, well, nice, really. It reminds me of New York. I know I say you’d like everywhere, but it’s true. I don’t think there really is a place you could hate unless you really tried. Perhaps Siberia. Not good. Or a planet from a week or so ago that was basically a junk planet. No doubt you’d find something wonderful in that anyway.</p>
<p>Rathmo’s the guard. Or one of them, I suppose. We met him coming in and, really, he’s the second nicest person I know. You’re the first, obviously. He loves Jupiter, so that must count for something.</p>
<p>He’s a little like me, I think. Not in the kindness, I don’t reach there by a long, long way. But he has a niece, and he’d do anything, absolutely anything for her. And I guess I’m the same. Not with her obviously, but- god, kid.</p>
<p>I’m gonna make him a bot, I think. Just a little one, like Jupiter. As a thank you gift, I suppose, for letting us into his home so readily. Just a little companion. As much as he loves his niece, she’s not on this planet, and I think, I don’t know, I think he’s a little lonely. Maybe I’m wrong. I’ll name it- I’ll name it Rothko. Like the artist, y’know? The name’s a bit like his. I don’t know. It feels like a good name for a bot. Any name is good for a bot, really, if you don’t think too hard about it.</p>
<p>I did, the first time. I spent so long trying to find the right name for DUM-E. Literal hours spent pouring over baby name books and picking people’s brains, and then one day he ran into a table and I called him a dummy, and immediately he looked up as if that had been his name all along. It just stuck.</p>
<p>I’ve seemed to gather kids, kinda. Mostly bots and AI, but then there was you, and I never knew I could love someone like I love you, kid. And there’s Neb. She feels a little like a cross between daughter and a partner-in-crime. It just works.</p>
<p>I want you to know, okay, I’m not trying to replace you in any way. I promise. She’s wonderful, but she’s not you, and you aren’t her. Turns out space in my heart can increase exponentially. There’s always gonna be space, kid. At least I hope there will be. Anyway, there’s always gonna be space for you, no matter what. I know you can’t worry about that right now, but if you ever are, you gotta know you’re worth the goddamn universe and there’s always space for you.</p>
<p>You had issues with that at first, I think. I remember you saying you didn’t feel welcomed. Well, I guess you know now that you’re always welcome. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell your brain that sometimes. Self-worth is difficult, but all three of us are trying, no?</p>
<p>When we get back to Earth, or if I find some sort of printing device somewhere, I’ll make us t-shirts with some crappy slogan. ‘Validation, please’, or something. ‘But sir, they’re my emotional support insecurities.’. I don’t know, I’m not good at slogans. ‘I am Iron Man’ was a one off. More of a factual statement than a slogan, really.</p>
<p>Sorry. I don’t know. I’m getting kinda tired, and Rathmo’s guest beds are really comfy, but i don’t wanna switch off, kid. It’s like talking to you, almost.</p>
<p>Ok, I’m gonna end because my eyes aren’t doing their best at staying open. Nothing on you.</p>
<p>I love you kid, and if you forget that I’m gonna come for you and force it into your brain with a shit ton of validation. I love you, so much. Space says hello. Hang in there, okay?</p>
<p>End recording.”</p>
<p>Static.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Usually, Nebula wakes to the roaring of engines, or, in the very least, Tony sleeptalking. She’s found he has rather interesting conversations in his sleep.</p>
<p>Today, when she wakes and stays, eyes shut, listening for a moment, just to scope out the surroundings, she can already tell he’s not asleep. His breathing, asleep, is never as laboured as when he’s conscious, and anyway, he’s mumbling to himself as he often does when working. For a moment, she lies still and just listens.</p>
<p>Over time, she once perfected the art of staying utterly still. Sliding into shadows and remaining unnoticed called for it, and she did, gaining comprehensive control of anything her muscles could do. Her father called it the pinnacle of being, not letting yourself get carried away by involuntary impulses. She’d been proud. Like a statue, like the giant stone gods, she’d been able to hold herself in the same position for hours at a time, every inch of herself under complete control.</p>
<p>Apparently, the Power Stone can undo even years of training. Even with the greatest effort as she lies in a position that does not call for stillness, muscles twitch, her body moves, if only so very slightly, of its own accord. </p>
<p>She wonders if that means she’s sub-par. Some part of her is certain it does. For some reason, Tony doesn’t seem to think so. But then again, he’s never seen her at the perfection of her existence, in control and almost unstoppable (Thanos could stop her with just a click of his fingers, but that is irrelevant). It was years ago, before any of the business with the Stones, but she had been perfect. This is just a relic. And yet, he still seems to think she’s brilliant. (She won’t let herself think like this, but he’s a better father than Thanos could ever be.)</p>
<p>Has he ever been a relic? Something left behind when life has tampered with you and moved on? She doesn’t think so. He seems to be at the pinnacle of his being right now, and she doesn’t even compare.</p>
<p>At least, that’s what she would usually think. Now, however, he’s sat cross-legged on a low bunk, bags under his eyes larger than the eyes themselves, hands moving faster than she’d been aware human hands could move. He’s mumbling under his breath to himself in what seems to be a mix of English, Allspeak, Arrderian and Khuil. There’s so many terms flying around that she couldn’t understand a word if she tried. He doesn’t exactly look like the pinnacle of being, but there’s still something almost ethereal about him. Perhaps it’s just the manic energy.</p>
<p>Nebula sits up, dragging a hand over her face and Jupiter, eager to say hello, scuttles over at the first notice of her consciousness. Something warm blossoming in her chest, she drops her hand to let him crawl up and rest atop her head, a position he’s been rather impartial to recently.</p>
<p>Tony doesn’t seem to notice Jupiter’s even left his shoulder, hands flying across holograms. Even with a visual representation, she can’t fathom what he’s doing. His brow is furrowed so far she’s certain his eyebrows are about to merge, and she feels sorry for his forehead. If he gets forehead cramps she wants to say she won’t laugh, but there’s no guarantee.</p>
<p>Shrugging a sweater over her makeshift pyjamas, Nebula shuffles out of the room, Jupiter settling more comfortably on her scalp. Fleetingly, something about that presses a vision of herself in a wig to the front of her mind and she cringes in an emotion that’s somewhere between disgust and outright amusement. She can’t deny that would be hilarious.</p>
<p>The corridor is quite a change from the guest bedroom they’ve been put up in. Where it was a generic room, stone and metal and a rug to protect from the cold seeping through the floor, the corridor is decked out in all manner of photographs. Each seems to hold a different person, and either Rathmo has a lot of friends, or a very, very extensive family. One face that appears multiple times is that of a child, Nebula would guess only just having reached adolescence. She wonders if this is his niece.</p>
<p>The carpet is soft, one woven with soft threads into a pattern of gentle zigzags that lead her to a door ahead, battered wood embedded in the stone of the giant. It swings open with little resistance other than a small creak and a whine of hinges, onto a comfortably furnished room which seems to double both as a kitchen and a living room. She’d been so tired when she got back last night she hadn’t quite been aware of her surroundings.</p>
<p>Over on the other side of the room, Rathmo, in a dressing gown that is frankly beautiful, colourful threads woven seamlessly together, is humming to himself, cooking something on a stove that looks way more complicated than it needs to be.</p>
<p>“Good morning.”</p>
<p>Rathmo turns, a wide smile on his face.</p>
<p>“Morning. Do you like [Malzharian equivalent of omelette but with very different eggs, sweetsands and plentiful purple spices that seems to be a staple here]? There’s not many other ingredients left in the cooler.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, I’ve never had one. Sorry. That sounds wonderful, thanks.”</p>
<p>He gestures with a smile to a seat at what appears to be the table, though the chairs seem also to be a part of the structure. Nebula can’t quite figure it out.</p>
<p>“Where’s Tony?”</p>
<p>Nebula laughs shortly, then shrugs.</p>
<p>“Engrossed in gods know what. Sorry your guest isn’t being particularly gracious.”</p>
<p>As he turns back to the cooker, Rathmo shrugs and flips over the alarmingly purple omelette in a carelessly practiced action. </p>
<p>As it turns out, the pseudo-omelette is, in fact, delicious. Either that, or Rathmo’s an amazing cook. Or both. She gets the feeling both is most likely. Jupiter crawls from her hood and prods sadly at her omelette; she laments his inability to eat.</p>
<p>Rathmo loves Jupiter, and it seems that love is wholeheartedly reciprocated. Nebula’s quite happy watching them interact until the door swings open and a feral-looking Tony bounds in with a syringe and a mad look on his face. Of course, she’s gotten used to it by now, though perhaps not the syringe, but Rathmo looks like someone’s just handed him a bomb, only to take it back and then throw a past-its-sell-by-date banana at him, which is a niche simile but feels fitting.</p>
<p>“Hey Rathmo, thanks for letting us stay here. Um, Neb. I’ve had some breakthroughs and this is unrelated but can I have a sample of your blood?”</p>
<p>Rathmo’s eyes widen, which Nebula wasn’t quite sure was possible. She shrugs.</p>
<p>“Sure,” she says and holds out an arm. Carefully, cleaning the spot after like Thanos never bothered to do in all his tests on her, he draws a small sample of her blood. Then, he grins, giving a thumbs up, and disappears back through the door. Rathmo stares.</p>
<p>“What.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, stuff like that happens all the time. Just let it be.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Another half sect or so of amicable chatter and gushing over Jupiter later (she’s not sure, she’s not quite got the time measurements here right yet), Tony appears once again, many apologies proffered and readily accepted, which seems to surprise him.</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m not the most coherent at times.”</p>
<p>Rathmo just chuckles and hands him a plate of omelette that’s been sitting around for a while now, but no doubt just as delicious.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>Tony offers him a soft smile and sits down with them. He looks tired, but not so much in the way of lack of sleep, but as if he’s thought so much that his brain can’t physically think anymore.</p>
<p>“Neb. I. Um. Looked into your blood a little, because I uh, had some suspicions.”</p>
<p>He looks down, mouth twisting in the way she’s noticed it does when he’s nervous, or something of the like. Rathmo tilts his head in confusion. She wants desperately to tell Tony he has nothing to be nervous for, but she’s tried before, and it hasn’t worked. Which doesn’t mean she’s ever going to stop trying.</p>
<p>“Hey, go ahead.”</p>
<p>“Right, right, yeah. So, I had some ideas and. Um.” He pauses, just long enough for her to nod along again. “It’s your birthday.”</p>
<p>She’d been expecting something horrifying, or not even that. Something irrelevant, something about her lineage or species or some depressing fact about her body, tampered with and then tossed out, like so many.</p>
<p>She had definitely not been expecting this. Surprisingly, the first to react is Rathmo, who throws his arms open wide with a grin.</p>
<p>“Happy Birthday, Nebula,” he says as if that statement carries so much weight, and she can’t help but smile just a little. As if still unsure, Tony smiles at her as well, though small and nervous.</p>
<p>"I got you something,” he starts, tentatively. “A gift. I got it a while ago, but I hope it's still ok. Not that it’s going to go off or anything, it’s not food and I don’t think whatever weird alien material it is at any threat of rotting, but um, yeah.” He stops, and pulls out from behind his back a gift rather haphazardly wrapped in a wrapping cloth she’s pretty certain they acquired at least three weeks ago. “Happy birthday.”</p>
<p>As she takes it, she notices vaguely that her hands are shaking. They’ve never shaken before. She’s always been in complete control, but here they are, shivering of their own accord in some emotion she can’t quite decipher, and she hadn’t even realised. She calms her fingers, and carefully, muscles back under her conscious jurisdiction and that only, unties the wrapping fabric.</p>
<p>Her heart stops. It’s just for a moment, but it makes her look up at Tony, who’s smiling with an odd rueful grin. </p>
<p>On the gentle folds of the fabric sits a knife. A shard of bone, intricately carved with sharpened swirls, handles tied with a rough turquoise cloth. She doubts it would break at anything, but still, she’s reluctant to touch it; perhaps it’s something about spoiling the pristine, almost ethereal perfection of it.</p>
<p>“I- um- I saw you looking at it, in that market on Narvva, I don’t know if you remember? I thought you might like it. I’ve been saving it up.”</p>
<p>She does remember. Maybe it was the vibrance, maybe it was the architecture, or maybe it was the scarf, the first gift she’d ever gotten, given to her on the outskirts of the city in a distant sunrise. Either way, she remembers.</p>
<p>Finally, she takes the knife into her hands, runs her finger along the sharpened edge, careful not to draw blood. It’s beautiful, sleek and sharp and she doesn’t know what to even try to say but she does know that whatever it is, it will get stuck in her throat before it even lands on living ears. It’s a moment before she’s aware of her surroundings again over the tightness in her chest, something she’s sure she’s experienced before, but not quite like this.</p>
<p>Tony’s smiling, half a grin, half one of the softest smiles she’s ever seen from him. At some point when she was admiring the knife, Rathmo stood up, no doubt to give them some privacy. His back is turned, but she can tell that he’s smiling.</p>
<p>“It’s not much,” Tony starts, “I just thought-”</p>
<p>“Stark, shut up.”</p>
<p>He closes his mouth immediately, staring down at the countertop, and she wants to tell him that he’s taking that the wrong way, but it seems she’s reached her speech limit for the ever increasing abundance of emotion in her chest. So, instead, she stands up, barely registering the scrape of the chair against the stone floor and hugs Tony, hard.</p>
<p>He reacts immediately, wrapping his arms around her in that way he has, though she hasn’t let herself experience it often. The way he hugs, she feels safe, so safe.</p>
<p>She can’t cry, but she sobs anyway, just once, face buried deep into his shoulder, and though this feels awkward, just because that’s how she’s been trained to think, it’s perfect. His arms tighten around her and she does not want to let go. Not for a very long time.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>When they’ve cried and laughed and reminisced, Rathmo shows them around. The knife is strapped, hidden under her jacket, to her belt. Not because Nebula necessarily thinks she’s going to need to use it, but because it’s something she wants to keep close to her, for the moment, no matter how unnecessary it is.</p>
<p>The streets are crowded, several species swarming together in humming crowds, she assumes from different corners of the planet, all gathered here in the heart of a god. Every wall and every floor and ever ceiling is made of stone here, but you couldn’t tell it looking around. Every surface is covered with murals and carpets and beautiful paintings, some religious, some not. It feels like the exact opposite of Flintoch’s lonely little statue heart. This heart, hanging from the shell of the god, is the centre of a city, and looks it too.</p>
<p>Like most cities, it has that electrifying energy. Maybe it’s just her eternal vigilance and hyperawareness of her surroundings, which she seems to share with Tony, but cities seem to be just so full of life. Not that she doesn’t enjoy the peace of a secluded village or a lone house in the mountains, or a distant research outpost, or anything of the like, really, but there’s something about the joint anonymity and personal relevance of the city that she’s just immediately drawn to.</p>
<p>Rathmo moves through the crowd as if he’s been doing it his whole life, which she guesses he probably has. He walks like a child almost, ducking between stalls with the sort of enraptured wonder that comes with a place that you know will never, ever get boring.</p>
<p>Jupiter, sitting among the worn folds of her scarf, pokes his head out in curiosity and doesn’t return to safety in the crook of her neck for a long while.</p>
<p>Eventually, they reach what seems to be a warehouse, though it’s fashioned, obviously, of stone and plastered in a large mural depicting the New Gods in battle with what seems to be fish. Or perhaps a pescoid race. It’s vast, and even the huge, striped double door reveals nothing of what’s inside.</p>
<p>Nebula had been expecting bright colours and many people, which is exactly what she gets, but what she wasn’t expecting was the smell. It’s delicious, a mix of foods she’s sure she’s had before, and foods she’s sure she hasn’t.</p>
<p>Around them, winding its way between street food stalls selling everything from green baked potatoes to squirming tortilla chips she’s pretty sure are alive, is bunting, in various colours with pictures depicting what she supposes used to be detailed lettering but is now too worn out to decipher. There’s also lettering on the ground, she realises after just a moment of instinctively scoping out every possible detail she could even attempt to see, but those too are worn out beyond understanding. By now, they’ve mostly been replaced with carpets, painted murals and the footsteps of hundreds of people.</p>
<p>Beside her, Tony, under the thin disguise, grins. Jupiter has officially taken up residence atop her head and is staring around in fascination, or what she assumes is fascination, judging by his excited whirring.</p>
<p>Rathmo, looking more confident than she’s ever seen him, sidles up to a stall. Behind the counter sits a person, of what appears to be a similar species to Rathmo, though their skin is extensively scarred in what would be rather interesting patterns if she had a little less respect. She can’t fathom how, in their apparent position as a chef and cashier at a street food stall, they would have acquired such scarring, and neither does she really want to know. They’re wearing an apron boldly emblazoned with the words ‘Keigann’s Kitchens’, though all they seem to be doing at the moment is looking bored and flipping through a series of papers on the counter in front of them.</p>
<p>As the three of them approach, the person looks up, face almost literally splitting into a wide smile at the sight of Rathmo, all traces of boredom disappearing, though the tiredness doesn’t seem to want to leave.</p>
<p>“Hey, ‘Mo,” they say, raising a nonchalant hand. Nebula shares a glance with Tony, and she can tell he’s thinking exactly what she is. ‘Mo? She and Tony seem to be rather in sync these days. Not that she has anything against the nickname, but it’s not one she’d quite expected. It does, however, seem like the obvious choice. She’s not sure; nicknames aren’t exactly one of her areas of expertise or even mild competence.</p>
<p>“Hello Marth. How’s MassEd going?”</p>
<p>“Okay. Studying is a little difficult, but they’re letting me do the morning classes again, so it should be going well. Two months till Third Stage. They sped it up, finally. How are you? How’s Lil?”</p>
<p>In an action that seems familiar, and honestly does a hell of a load to light up any room he’s in, Rathmo beams.</p>
<p>“That’s so great, Marth. Lil is ok. Acclimatising to the growth on her hands, but it's natural to be a little disorientated.”</p>
<p>“Of course. So, what’ll you have today?”</p>
<p>Marth, from nowhere, pulls out a notepad and a selection of pens that is both impressive due to its extent and the fact that they can even hold them without them spilling all over the countertop. There must be at least fifty. With a little deliberation, they pick out what appears to be a green gel pen and hold it rather dramatically up to the pad.</p>
<p>“Actually, I have some guests today.” Rathmo steps aside to reveal Tony and Nebula, who share another glance before greeting Marth with wide smiles. Though their faces are obscured behind a thin film Tony’s designed to alter features ever so slightly, just enough to be unrecognisable, there’s still an odd reassurance, to Nebula, in that familiar smile Tony gives.</p>
<p>“Hey guys. First time here?”</p>
<p>Tony nods. “First time. Anything you’d recommend?” Nebula envies the way he falls into conversation so easily.</p>
<p>“Our soups are notorious, they say, moving aside slightly to reveal large vats of a soup behind, stirred by two people in what seem to be spacesuits. It does, she has to admit, look delicious.</p>
<p>“Why the suits?”</p>
<p>“Soup’s poisonous until fully cooked.” At the looks of alarm that must have crossed both their faces, Marth laughs, a short and sharp, though not unpleasant sound. It makes Nebula want to make them do it again, for some odd reason. “Don’t worry, we make sure it’s fully cooked. It’s pretty delicious when the poison’s gone.”</p>
<p>Tony nods, flashing them another grin.</p>
<p>“I’ll have to trust you on that. One for me, please.”</p>
<p>“Seasoned?”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>Marth, pen poised and ready to strike, turns to Nebula.</p>
<p>“You?”</p>
<p>“I’ll have one of those too. Thanks.”</p>
<p>“No problem. ‘Mo, same as always?”</p>
<p>Rathmo nods. Satisfied, Marth turns around and shouts something about soup in a language she’s barely mastered. She can’t quite make it out, with the combined ineptitude of her abilities and the buzz of the crowd, but she hopes they’re not ordering for them to add poison or anything. Honestly, she wouldn’t put it past some people, but Marth seems trustworthy and Rathmo definitely is.</p>
<p>He leads them over to a table in the centre of the market, explaining the downfalls of MassEd. It appears to be the education system here, though by the sound of it, it leaves much to be desired. Tony, in return, tells Rathmo about his kid and the uselessness of some of his teachers.</p>
<p>Nebula likes listening to Tony talk about Peter. The fondness in his voice is something she yearns for, but the way his face softens and his eyes light up is quite a sight. His voice is comforting at the worst of times, but when he’s talking about Peter, there’s a gentle tone to it that calms Nebula. Plus, Peter sounds wonderful and she’d very much like to meet him.</p>
<p>A while ago, she vowed to herself she’d get Peter back for him. She’s not sure how she’s going to do it, but she knows she is. She owes him that, at the very minimum.</p>
<p>Though Nebula doesn’t have much to add to the discussion, seeing as most of her knowledge was more or less forced into her mind or taught, much less cruelly, by Tony, she’s still comfortable to sit and listen to the back and forth of conversation on the downfalls of the education system. Planets and solar systems are all, obviously, different, but one thing they all seem to have in common is a shitty school system. Maybe it’s just the nature of sentient civilisations, but she’s never once encountered, in her admittedly limited encounters with education systems, one that works half way decently.</p>
<p>The soup arrives in almost no time, steaming in large bowls which Marth places carefully in front of them before leaving with a grin and a wink, braids flicking behind them as they head back to the stall.</p>
<p>“Smells nice?” Rathmo asks, tucking into a bowl.</p>
<p>“‘Course.”</p>
<p>They tuck in, and Nebula’s not sure she’s tasted anything nicer. She tries not to think of poison, and enjoys the meal. It’s not hard to. Even the scent is delicious, and the taste is even better, the atmosphere seems to add to it as well. For what is very much not the first time, she is very thankful Thanos decided to leave her taste receptors. She doesn’t doubt it was more out a forgetfulness than any actual wish for her to be able to taste things. If he’d remembered, she’d probably be stuck with a tasteless tongue by now. She tries not to think about it.</p>
<p>Over his bowl, Tony smiles up at her.</p>
<p>“Good birthday so far? If it’s not I can, I don’t know, come up with something. You deserve to have a good birthday.”</p>
<p>She wants to argue to that, but she’s not sure exactly how she would. Anyway, it would probably only make Tony worry or do something elaborate to show her her own self worth, as he’s had a habit of doing lately.</p>
<p>“I love it.” She smiles a small smile at him, hoping the emotion gets through. Judging by the way he beams back at her, it worked.</p>
<p>Rathmo, distracted by the waving of someone across the markets, stands up to greet them. Jupiter lifts a leg and waves as he leaves, and Rathmo, who seems intent on making Nebula practically melt with his softness towards her bot, waves back with a smile before wandering off.</p>
<p>They’re left alone, in an alien city with no knowledge of how to get around, but Nebula finds she doesn’t really care.</p>
<p>Across from her, Tony sips soup, staring lazily around at the crowds with his head moving in tandem with Jupiter’s. Her bot has taken up position atop his skull, turning with his head, but in a movement Tony doesn’t seem to notice, he clambers down, legs catching slightly on his ear. Peering up at her with huge eyes, he skitters across the table and right into her hands as they lie, open on the table.</p>
<p>Gently, more gently than she’d ever have thought, six months ago, she could be, she scoops him up. Though she can’t always control her movements when emotional, anymore, she still holds Jupiter with such care her hands couldn’t move no matter how much they want to. Jupiter stares up at her with wide eyes. After a moment, he nestles into the cradle of her hands and promptly falls asleep. He has a habit of doing that.</p>
<p>“So, anything else you’d like for your birthday?”</p>
<p>Startled more than she should be, Nebula looks up, frantic for a moment at Tony’s sudden words.</p>
<p>“Oh. No.”</p>
<p>“Candyfloss it is then. I think I saw a stall on the way in.”</p>
<p>“Of course. How could I have been mistaken? Candyfloss is the answer to everything.”</p>
<p>“I thought that was 42.”</p>
<p>She grins. “Perhaps it is, perhaps it is.”</p>
<p>Having finished the soup, Tony moves the bowl to the side and rests his chin on his hands, elbows on the table. Nebula wants to tell him that Jarvis would not approve of such horrible etiquette, but they haven’t talked about him much and she thinks it may be a touchy subject.</p>
<p>“Seriously though, anything you want? Hell, abstract nouns will do. Actions, anything. Physical belongings are really going out of fashion.”</p>
<p>She thinks about it. A while ago, before Tony and this trip through space, she might have said the opportunity to kill Thanos. It would have been her one goal and her one, sole desire. Find Thanos, and murder him, in cold blood. Watch the dawning horror on his face when he sees he’s raised a monster, and that finally, finally, the monster is coming for him. That’s still a strong desire in her. To find him and rip him apart.</p>
<p>But, there’s so much more to live for now. Where she once lived just for the end, of his life or her own, there’s so many things she lives for now. Tony, Jupiter, the stars, the buzz of a city, the hum of the engine under her feet, chess, Old Yellow Bricks, the vast expanse of void and life that is the universe and all it holds. </p>
<p>She tends to take one day at a time, a matter of pure survival. For the first time, stepping back and looking at it, it is wonderful in its entirety.</p>
<p>And she wants to stay.</p>
<p>Before she speaks, she has to take a deep breath. Perhaps it’s readying herself, perhaps it’s breaking past the buildup of emotion in her chest, but either way, it’s a moment before Nebula speaks.</p>
<p>“I’d like to stay with you.”</p>
<p>Tony looks up from the worn woodwork of the table and stares her right in the eyes. His glisten, and then there are tears, and Nebula has no idea what to do. They’re not loud tears, just a couple, slipping down his face, completely unexpected and still, after all this time spent with humans, a strange thing to see (humans leak water out of their faces to show emotion? Nebula will never understand).</p>
<p>“Huh.” He chuckles, dry and never breaking eye contact.</p>
<p>“You know, there’s only two people who’ve ever told me that before. Rhodey and Peter. And now, you. God, when did I become such a sap? Kid’s done something to me, I swear.” He laughs again, bright and surprised. Nebula didn’t even realise she was smiling until now.</p>
<p>She laughs with him, for some reason, until they calm and settle.</p>
<p>“Of course you can stay with me. Not that I’d recommend it, but you really thought I’d let you go? You’re a Stark now, through and through, welcome to the family.”</p>
<p>And that’s just about the thing that’s going to bring her tear duct-less eyes the closest they will ever come to tears. Instead of crying, however, she just smiles wider. She’s not sure she can quite find a way to express this happiness, so she laughs again, letting him join in. It doesn’t quite feel like the right way to express it, but then again, she can never quite find the right way to. It’s ok, she’ll settle for this.</p>
<p>“You know, I was going to offer you the opportunity to kill Thanos. I want to make him hurt, so, so fucking bad, but you kill him, ok? You deserve that.”</p>
<p>“You know, that’s two birthday gifts instead of one. I’m pretty sure you only offered one.”</p>
<p>He grins.</p>
<p>“I’m sure we can figure something out.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>50000 words!!<br/>Thanks so much to anyone who's read this regularly up to this point, I love you and thank you again. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day 156</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Static. "</span>
  <span>Ship's log, the Benatar. Titan to Terra-slash-Earth Day 156. Earth date 2018. Or perhaps 2019. I haven’t been keeping track.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Last week was chaotic, I guess. Big battle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I didn’t even mean to become a part of it, really, but the planet we were on was invaded, and helping is what I do, right? It’s what I’m good for, so that’s what I do. I don’t know.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What I do know is that I didn’t get to do a log. So, here I am, I guess. I missed you. I know it’s stupid, because you’re no even here and I’m just talking to a helmet, but these make me feel- a little closer to you, I guess. God, no, that’s kinda creepy. I don’t know, kid. I guess this is all I have left, right? You can’t be horribly sappy and love your kid when you’re busy fighting alien overlords and travelling the universe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The battle was boring. I’m not going to go into detail on it. That’s not what kept me away. What kept me away was a little more… dramatic. Some espionage, some fighting, a lot of stampede.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I</span>
  <span>t’s hard to describe. It’s still kinda hard to think about, but here we go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s this guy called Idyll. Strange name, I know. He’s got this big company, it’s like...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t do this. I mean, I could. God, kid, I want to. For you, you know? You don’t deserve to miss anything. You’ve always wanted to go to space, see aliens, even if those space fantasies only emerged as the BARF Firefly project and pressuring MJ to let you on her podcast. And now I, the one who never wanted to go to space, am here, and you aren’t. You don’t deserve that. I mean, I love the universe now, too. Maybe more than Earth. Fuck- that’s hard to say. But you were there first. I just followed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I just- you always say to be truthful, right? God, remember after that stupid article from Christine and you told me not to lie again if it was hurting me? And I said if I did that then you should stop saying when you got stabbed that it was just a ‘light graze’, and then neither of us stopped? We were such idiots. I was such an idiot. You’ve never been an idiot, kid, that was all me. Don’t believe those little freaks at school for a second.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Guess they can’t bully you anymore, huh?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But- right, right. You said be truthful. Truth is… fuck. No, fuck is not the truth. Your aunt’s gonna kill me. Um- just fuck as a general term of oh-god-why-can’t-I-express-myself, okay?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Truth, right. Uh. I love you so much. That’s a truth. Though I’ve probably told you that a thousand times. I hope it doesn’t lose its meaning, god, I hope you don’t think this is just some sort of habit now. Every time I mean it, kid. Every time. I promise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another truth: the universe is huge. There is so much of it. So much to see, so much to document, and I want you to know all of it. One day, I’ll take you places. Show you the universe. Until then, I guess it’s just you and me talking one-sidedly through a recorder. It’s still here, though. I promise. Maybe my words aren’t enough, but it’s all here. Jesus, that sounds ridiculous, but there it is. Another truth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of these are the truths I should tell, are they? Jesus Christ.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Right. Truth. Rhodey and Pep used to be so adamant about that, but even they couldn’t tell sometimes. You know, the only people who could ever tell properly were Matt Murdock and Christine Everhart. You know Matt? Daredevil lawyer guy. Read me like a kid's book and god, did I need it. Christine you definitely know. Did the big Avengers dump after Civil War. I got to know her a bit better after that. She saw right through me easier than I can see myself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then there was you, kid. And you couldn’t always tell, but you tried. Fuck- I don’t know why or how, but you tried. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Here I am, talking to you from my little corner of the universe, telling you that you succeeded, and you aren’t even here to hear it. You got me to tell the truth kid, and I didn’t think anyone could do that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’ll tell you the truth. I hope you’re ok with it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’m tired. So goddamn tired and I’m trying to tell you everything, I really am, and I want to give you everything but it’s hard. Like hella fucking hard. And neither of those two truths make it any different. I love you so much and the universe is so big and open for you to see it’s wonders and stupid little me with my stupid little recorder can’t even give it to you.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not doing you or it justice and all because my brain won’t work properly. Kid, get yourself a brain that works. I recommend it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My hands are shaking, Spiderling. Goddamn shaking like they haven’t in weeks. Months, maybe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Is this why I can’t talk? God knows. I’ll explain some time, I guess. Idyll, everything. Big business guy, mistreating his workers, we freed them and stormed the whole place together. And there’s so much more detail I should be able to give, but I can’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I can. Just- not now, ok? God, give me a break. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything later. I just need more time.” </span>
  <span>Silence approximating seven seconds. A quiet sob. </span>
  <span>“I’ll get you back then you can see it for yourself. It’s wonderful. I’m sorry I can’t give it to you, but damn if I won’t do anything to get you back. I’ve got plans, kiddo, big plans.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I love you so much. Remember that. Even if I don’t tell you everything I should. I love you so much, so, so much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hang in there, okay?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>End recording.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Static.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony Stark has seen many things in his life, some beautiful, many not. From a small teenager sitting upside down on the ceiling, to a city falling from the sky, if anyone has seen it, he probably has.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One thing he has not seen, however, despite the many, many deaths he’s witnessed, is the death of a star.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If you’d asked him a year ago if he’d like to see a supernova, he’d probably have laughed, or told you it would be ridiculous to even go so far into space to see another star, let alone one about to explode. Yet, in the last half year, he’s seen sunrises and sunsets across the universe, battles and celebrations and mourning and living. He’s seen the death of half the universe, he’s fought a Titan, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>lost a son</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Supernovae don’t even come close.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he’s unreasonably excited as they approach the viewing area. They’re using the public one, on account of wanting to go incognito, solely so they can spend the day to themselves, and because the billionaire who’s gotten rights to the viewing and is letting very few select people into his hospitality viewing area, is not a fan of him. It’s not that Tony’s done anything directly against him, but he may or may not have helped release his workers from a collapsing mine, which apparently puts him in his bad books. Tony would think that he’d be grateful, for saving people working under him, but apparently he detests the people working for him who actually bring in the money. It seems like a bit of a counterproductive idea. Perhaps they should start taking tips from Stark Industries.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The public viewing area has nowhere near as good a view as the hospitality one, but it's certainly bigger. A huge curved wall of metal hangs suspended in space, protective shields blocking it from the star’s power. Not that it’s at all close, but Tony suspects they might be a little more essential when the star actually explodes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No matter how 'public' it claims to be, Tony knows with unwavering certainty that it will be nowhere near. Idyll's version of public is probably some extravagant monstrosity to rival Cait's halls. This is going to be elite, very, and if they're not careful, they will once again be caught up in the clutches of Idyll Enterprises. Which would be less than ideal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony. That’s an Idyll Enterprises thing,” Nebula says, eyeing it with suspicion and then him as if he’s an absolute idiot, which he probably is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup. Didn’t you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but, like most of what you say, it didn’t really sink in. What are we doing here? You do realise Idyll hates us?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She snorts, and he rolls his eyes in belated response. “I think it’s more of a vague dislike,” he says, pulling at straws. She’s right, though.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He hates you.” She levels him with a blank stare, then they both crack up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, fine. But, like, seeing a supernova would be cool. And we’re going incognito, I’ve got those face-change-y mask things. We’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula huffs but shrugs her shoulder noncommittally. “Sure. It’s on you if we’re caught, though.” She doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered by the prospect; they’ve escaped Idyll’s clutches before, it shouldn’t be a problem doing it again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Happily.” He holds out a mask, and she takes it, eyes never leaving the star up ahead. It’s in its last throes of life, oncoming death evident. It looks weakened and angered all at the same time and Tony wants to talk to it, tell it it’s done so well, or something of the like. Perhaps it's a strange parental instinct, perhaps it is his inner poet emerging, but he does. Normally, such a sentence would sound strange, but he’s talked to gods and men who call themselves gods and living planets and the scorpion he found in his shoe that told him his insoles were the nicest they had slept on in a while.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He has prayed to the stars and believed there was something there to pray to. Perhaps there was, perhaps there is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Solar flares speckle the surface of the star, and both of them can see, plain as day, what is coming. And they’ll be here to see it. Tony has only seen supernovae in photographs and imagined videos, and he can't quite fathom what it will be like to see in person.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula places her mask over her face, and the fake skin spreads across her body, creeping down her arms and across her neck, and very soon, she is a new person, completely unrecognisable. Tony does the same. It is an uncomfortable feeling at best, this process, the cool dampness of the mask crawling over his skin, but it settles into a barely noticeable sensation of wearing slightly wet clothes. Anyway, it is necessary, if they do not want to be seen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ship creeps up on the viewing area, and Tony carefully navigates it into one of the docking areas, Nebula behind him, leaning on a wall and browsing the supernova tourism pamphlet. Her eyebrows, now purple against red skin, raise almost imperceptibly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. This is supposed to be the most powerful supernova on record.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds fun. How powerful?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Powerful.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He snorts. “Got it. Thanks for the in-depth info.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem,” she responds, no trace of insincerity other than a small smirk. Tony thinks, if he looks closely, he can see traces of her own face beneath the mask. Perhaps he’s just so used to being around her that his mind is tricking him, but it’s nice to imagine that he’d be able to recognise her no matter what.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They dock the ship in the shade of the structure, barely noticeable among the flock of other ships. Peering down from the walkway as they reach it, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see it if he didn’t know what he was looking for. It’s a relief; as much as Tony would like to deny it, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> paranoid, if nothing else. Their little haven peeks out from behind a much larger Scelean ship, and he can’t help but smile. If Nebula notices, she doesn’t say anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they ascend towards the entrance, passing ships ranging from the smallest and most finely decorated craft to huge rusting hunks of metal that Tony supposes are something military or from around Dasbanx, it becomes clear just </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> exclusive this is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony had expected it to be select, this is Idyll. But he had thought elite would just be anyone who could pay enough, and this, well, this is more than that, definitely more than that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He is very glad they chose to wear a little more than normal clothes, because the people ascending the stairs right now look like they have stepped right out of either a period drama or a high-end function in some cyberpunk sci-fi universe. Self-consciously, he adjusts the glimmering lapels of his jacket. Even Nebula looks a little uncomfortable, eyes darting across the walkways at regal suits and silken dresses.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody gives them a second glance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The entrance is fancy and over-the-top, like something from his years before Iron Man, and really, it’s all the tackiness he has come to expect from Idyll. Whatever he says about Idyll Enterprises being for the commoners, Tony has never seen or even imagined him in anything but extravagance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guards glance over their passes with little but second thought, and they pass through into the corridor with ease, mingling among the rest of those gathered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone, as they step from the corridor into the main viewing area, looks up. It’s the natural reaction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ceiling is high, ribbed like some strange creature’s ribcage but still breathtakingly beautiful. The walls are lined with balconies where people dressed in their finest make delicate conversation under the influence of drinks that look like they could knock Tony out in a glass. The windows stretch high to reveal a dying star, and Tony really does have to marvel at the architecture. No matter what other sorts of atrocities Idyll has committed, his design choices are not one of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Beside him, Nebula whistles lowly. “You’ve got to admit he has taste.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Taste and a good dose of assholery to go with it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t we all,” she says, and Tony has to agree, if only to spare himself hypocrisy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around at the assembled crowd, Tony has to wonder what the hell is going on in the hospitality section. If these are the sort of people in the ‘public’ viewing area, who the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> is up there? Certainly not him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>None of the guests seem to be bothered by this. After all, why be concerned with what is up there, when so much brilliance is down here anyway? There is food laid out on the tables, which once again leads Tony to question what further excess hospitality has. Drinks are held delicately between fingers of all shapes, sizes, colour and costume (the selection of gloves is impressive if nothing else).</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony has a lot of experience in places like this. Whatever he has done and whatever he has seen, nothing can take away from the fact that he was raised as a businessman first and foremost. Regrettably, it is in his blood, and, right now, it comes in handy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There are languages he knows, many of them, and some he doesn’t, but whatever they say he responds to easily, laying the alien diplomat facade on heavy. They buy it. Why wouldn’t they? This is a skill honed over years and years and he doubts many could even attempt to figure out what goes on behind his perfectly stilled features. Nebula, when he catches glimpses, seems to be doing just as well, the smile adorned along with the second skin utterly different to any way he has ever seen her smile. Tony would like to say he has had the privilege of being able to see Nebula smile, but never has it been this wide and sharp and glinting. It reminds him of himself before a sea of cameras and he turns away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Turns away to see someone he would not expect to see here in the slightest. Tony is pretty sure there is no way to exaggerate how surprised he is to see such a face here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He would expect aliens, enemies and acquaintances from his travels. He would be surprised to see someone like Rathmo or Cait so far from their responsibilities. He would be more surprised to see someone like Amadeus, given his size. He would be even further shocked to see someone like the Avengers. Still, any of these he supposes would be plausible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No matter how hard he thinks,Tony cannot fathom how May Parker would be standing across the room, leant coolly against a wall with a glass held comfortably in her hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s vaguely aware of someone speaking next to him, a man named Dirsch in a red dress and an impressively tall hat, but it has faded to background noise. He tries to catch Nebula’s eye over the crowd but she’s disappeared into the mass of silks and satins.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I told him,” Dirsch says elegantly, “I told him I wouldn’t let him come in. Something about trailing mud across my floors, you know how it is. And he protested, protested I tell you. Seriously, can’t stop a guy coming into your house any more without him spraying you with acid from his biceps and stealing your outdoor furniture.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony excuses himself. It’s not that he doesn’t find the conversation absolutely and completely fascinating (he doesn’t), but he’s pretty sure he’s got bigger fish to fry. At least, he does if he goes by the sight of May Parker across the room, eye fixed on him and muttering into her wrist. Dirsch barely notices.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The problem with any event from a supernova to a science convention is the people. They crowd together, shoved into each other in an effort to get as close to the main attraction as possible, which makes moving anywhere a hell of an effort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony, luckily, has had a lot of practice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Usually, he would hold command over a crowd, or at least people would make way for him, but here, in this disguise, he isn’t noticed, leaving him to push parts unwitting strangers and every so slightly kick excess feet away in his path.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mow that he thinks about it, he isn’t sure what he would say on arrival? Apologise? Say: ‘I’m sorry I took your son up to space and then failed to stop him from disintegrating, my condolences’? ‘Yeah, sorry I didn’t come back and tell you or anything, you really should have figured it out on your own’? There’s a reason Tony didn’t want to come back to Earth, and it’s that talking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not that he does not talk up here in the universe, but every talk he has is new. It is not awkward, there is nothing to push past, to deal with, there are no conversations that he has to have for his own good that he could not bear to. Avoidance has never been a good coping mechanism, but it has always been one he’s used, and he’s not stopping now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Has it made him go soft? He remembers a time, before the cold and before Peter, when every interaction was a conversation he didn’t want to have and every day brought frowns and disgust, and he had lived through it. Now he can’t even think about talking to a friend going through the same thing as him without wanting either to throw up or run. Maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone soft. He doesn’t regret it, not for everything it has brought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>None of this is helping at all with what to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony settles for: ‘how in the universe did you get here?’. It seems appropriate. He’ll wing it from there, he has always been good at that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>May, as he approaches, seems to grow more and more agitated. Tony can’t fathom why, but she hasn’t reintroduced eye contact since she broke it staring at Tony all the way back with Dirsch. He, if it means anything, feels himself growing similarly agitated, and he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because he has not spoken to another human other than through a recording device for about five months, or maybe it is something to do with the guilt over bringing Peter with him up here in the first place, but it is there and sickeningly familiar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now is not that time to be panicking. Definitely not the time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But what if she hates him? What if she’s mad that he took her nephew up into space and then failed to stop him dying? The friendship they’d formed before Thanos, mostly consisting of gossiping about Peter and his exploits, what of that? Would she shun him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’d be right to, and he thinks he’s right for his heart to be beating almost painfully hard, considering its restrictions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May-” he starts, watches her head turn towards him, eyes full of a disinterest he can tell is faked, if only from two years of knowing her. If he meant to say anything else, the words never fall on human ears. Instead, Tony is turned around with a rough hand on his shoulder, and told in a bubbly voice he probably should not find funny given the situation, despite how unbefitting it seems to the character who possesses it,</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony Stark, you are under arrest for the infiltration of an Idyll Enterprises function and destruction of property. If you will-” here, the hand around his shoulder tightens to almost painful “-come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This is going to be just wonderful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The good thing about being thrown into a dark, dingy cell is that it gives Tony time to think. It’s the only good thing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking, however, if exactly what he needs, because, not matter how hard he thinks, he still cannot imagine why or how May Parker would be up here watching a supernova, or how Idyll and his goons worked out who he was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s time for it; he’s not being tortured or convicted yet, and it doesn’t look like he will any time soon. Thank god for small mercies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It all goes downhill from there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony had been hoping that Nebula wasn’t caught, but when they toss her into the cell with him, there really are no more blessings to count than the fact that they’re left alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That, and the fact that nobody who has ever captured him has ever been able to keep him contained for long. It’s a character flaw. Someone really, really should have learnt by now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Nebula doesn’t move after a few seconds, Tony starts to get worried. He’s never seen her seriously hurt before, and he honestly isn’t quite sure what he’d do in a situation like that. First aid? He’s gotten pretty good at it, operating on himself or on Peter, but he’s a little rusty and his hands, damn them, are shaking like it’s nobody’s business. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hasn’t quite noticed his broken ankle until he tries to move over to her and collapses. Either his addled brain just had not registered yet, or the pain has become mingled with the pain from other areas of his body, most notably his chest, that have, by now, become the norm. A sort of background noise, if you will. Tony resorts to dragging himself across, and is about to settle next to Nebula to check her over for any wounds when she rolls over herself, blinking groggily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Motherfuckers,” she says simply, though her voice is a little slurred.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds about right. Are you okay? Anything broken? Anything in need of fixing? Any bleeding?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony. Calm. It’s ok. They just knocked me out, which is impressive considering. Nothing else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nods, long and slow. “Okay. Okay, you’re alright.” It’s more to reassure himself than Nebula, and if she notices that, she doesn’t seem to mind. “Welcome to kidnapping. I’m guessing this isn’t your first rodeo?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She snorts derisively. “No way. Being with Thanos was a little like a kidnapping, I guess, but it was mostly people who hated him wanting to get back at him through me. Probably didn’t know that he wouldn’t give a single shit. Or that I could snap their necks like toothpicks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not for the first time, Tony is very glad Nebula is on his side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I can imagine. I mean, people stopped kidnapping me eventually when they realised Howard was never going to pay for the ransom. That and I learned pretty quick how to hotwire a helicopter and knock out a guard with my thumb.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Nebula laughs, though it’s a little humourless.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No point looking around, Neb,” he says as she starts to do just that. “There’s nothing. Fully airtight, empty box. If they left us in here long enough I’d just suffocate and you would have to rely on your cyborg brilliance to escape.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Tony collapses back onto the ground, uncaring for the bruises it’s likely to cause on his elbows. At least, that is what he plans to do. Before he can move, Nebula grabs his arm and fixes him with a serious expression that reminds him of the first few weeks aboard the Benatar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s it? You’re gonna have to be a little more specific here, Neb.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can make a bomb easily, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” He thinks he might be able to see where she’s going with this, and he doesn’t like it one bit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Use me. I have got electrical parts, correct? Use those. You can fix me up later.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony shakes his head vehemently. He knows it’s a little hypocritical, given that he’d probably rip the arc reactor right out of his chest for her if need be, but he’s done causing his family harm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Fuck no. Neb, you know I know how much that hurts. I’m not gonna let you experience that again, okay? Fuck no.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, it is okay. I’m used to it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. You shouldn’t be. That fucking grape- god, that’s the damn point. You shouldn’t be used to it and there is no way I’m helping you get used to it. Fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula sits up now, hand still gripping his arm and serious expression lingering despite how much it has softened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony. Look, if you’ve got to do it to get us out of here, do it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no I’m not letting you be in pain, okay? There’s gotta be another way. I can’t, I can’t-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His voice is sticking in his throat but he still shakes his head, as if it’s the only thing he can do. Perhaps it is. Like his words now, he’s not sure if this is more of a comfort to Nebula or himself. Tony stops, gathers his thoughts, for Nebula.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, no. I’m not intentionally hurting you, there is another way and we are going to-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, Tony doesn’t get to finish whatever it was he was going to say because he is hauled roughly up again by the same hands under his shoulders, and the pain from his foot finally overtakes him, the room and Nebula sinking into darkness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony wakes up tied to a chair. It’s not an unusual situation for him, considering, but it’s a bit of a surprise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula is beside him, bound and gagged but still staring in concern. It takes Tony a moment or so to register that she isn’t the only other presence in the room, but not before he takes stock of just how nice the room is. It is completely unlike any other room he’s been interrogated in, and there have been many. Usually, they’re dank and dirty and bear the marks of victims past. This one, however, with its flawlessly carved plaster walls, ornate door frames and portrait hung up around the room, glaring at him in various shades of annoyance, is almost the exact opposite. If he wasn’t tied up with a broken ankle, cloth pulled across his mouth, Tony could almost believe he was at a posh dinner party in the far reaches of the Andromeda Galaxy’s Inner Core.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other people present are rather less welcoming on the eyes. Or, two of them have no features that Tony can actually see through their veil of shadow and the other is, well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Idyll of Idyll Enterprise cannot be said by anyone, no matter how much they detest him, not to be a good looking person. Even species whose beauty standards are far different from any humanoids’ cannot deny that there is no way he is at all offensive to lay eyes on. That is not to say, however, that he is a welcome sight. Tony can say with assured certainty that he definitely is not.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Idyll, standing over him, is just about the furthest thing Tony would have liked to see today.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Really, he can’t quite work out why it is always him. Every kidnapping, every arrest, he is the one stood over, even when Nebula’s right there. Not that he isn’t grateful they’re focussing their villainous intent on him instead of subjecting her with it, but he’d have thought she would be considered more dangerous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On seeing his eyes flicker open, each of Idyll’s three mouths pull into a lethargic smile. It is a smile that Tony has seen on many businesspeople’s faces, one that reminds him a little of either a shark or, in Idyll’s case, a rather lazy fish attempting to fake being a shark.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony Stark.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From behind and just in time, a faceless bodyguard rips the gags from Tony’s mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my name.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Idyll raises an eyebrow, which Tony supposes should be a signal of sarcasm or amusement or something of the like, and would have been much more effective had he actually had more than one eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It could be said, in various places in the universe, that Idyll is a kind man. His company, Idll Enterprises, has spread its wonders far across galaxies, catering to all who need it. It’s slogan promises beauty beyond your wildest dreams, if you can read a word of what it says. Only few can, which is probably bad for business, though Idyll doesn’t seem to care. All others know Idyll Enterprises only as the company that will craft your perfect place; build your town up to perfect, your homestead or city or commune or neighbourhood on par with the heavens. They promise to transform your bland suburbia into paradise. They promise the most idyllic situations, through their sorcery and science and wealth and your profuse donations.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There are many throughout the galaxy who would say that Idyll is a monster. Tony Stark included. Behind every facade of perfection is the ugly truth, as with most things. Tony had tried to make Stark Industries the most trustable, transparent company possible, and he did, if the huge public support and almost domination of the world had been anything to go by. He doubts Idyll even makes the effort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t need to. People want their own little idylls more than they care for what goes on behind the scenes, and who is IE to deprive them of that? The people, living in their beautiful paradises, are blissfully unaware, and Idyll likes it that way. Tony can see why, not that he agrees.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pull up the backdrop, and what is there left of Idyll Enterprises but starving workers in mines and factories and the horrible exploitation of the working class that they have come to rely on? Nothing. Of course Idyll wouldn’t want any transparency, and of course he wouldn’t let any get out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Until Tony and Nebula did. A dire mistake, and he’s not the first to make it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’d been planning to write an article on it for the Galactic Web, complete with audio snippets from mine workers, vlogs captured in their trespassing and photos taken while they were detained, through Nebula’s eyes. It had been part of an ongoing investigation by them, and many connections across the universe. Amadeus had first mentioned it long ago, then another on Andterghast, then Rathmo’s sister, parent of his niece. They’d been gathering evidence, something to utterly destroy Idyll and release his workers. Until this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Really, he should have seen it coming.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny seeing you here,” Tony says, and he can practically see a vein bursting in Idyll’s head, no matter how much of a calm facade he puts on. Idyll is a fish among sharks, and Tony grew up with them. He knows what he’s doing and he knows what he’s looking for. He just isn’t quite sure what to do with it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony Stark,” he says, visibly gathering himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said that already.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut it!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony does. It’s only tactful. He wouldn’t want Idyll to suffer a brain haemorrhage. Or perhaps he would, but then who would untie them?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony Stark.” Tony valiantly resists commenting on the repetition of his name. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Who are you, my dad?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tony says in his head, though doesn’t dare to out loud, either because he doesn’t want to be disemboweled by the faceless bodyguards, or because he’s pretty sure Howard was worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have incriminating evidence of me, do you not? Me and my company. I need it removed from existence, and if that means removing you, so be it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Really gotta clean up your language, Idyll. Eloquence is getting a bit slack.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But really, that would be messy, no? Better find out what you know first, wouldn’t want to be killing such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hero</span>
  </em>
  <span> for no reason. And, really, I believe the best way to do that, now, is this little thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The contraption subsequently wheeled out from a door behind him looks like something that will certainly get information out of someone very fast, just not someone who’s done this before. And Tony has. Many times.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Killing me would be less messy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s going first?” Idyll asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do it,” Tony says calmly. Beside him, Nebula makes an outraged noise through her gag, but there’s nothing she can do as he turns his head and winks. Her glare does little to change his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bodyguards manhandle him into the contraption. It’s a sort of chair, but in the back is a hole over which several threatening contraptions hover. His mind involuntarily skips to cigarette stubs, but he banishes the thought of Howard’s calloused fingers from his mind. That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he needs right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking way too pleased with himself, Idyll approaches, sauntering in a vaguely irritating fashion to where Tony sits, nonchalance forced. He’s about to press an evil-looking button when the door behind him, through which the rather monstrous-looking torture contraption had emerged, flies open once more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Idyll jumps about a foot in the air. There’s a lot of satisfaction in that. He, and the two bodyguards slump to the floor under the ministrations of the newcomers, and there is even more satisfaction in the heavy thump as they hit the ground.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They’re presumed saviours are two people who he assumes are women, though possibly wrongly, and there is something oddly familiar about them that Tony just cannot put his finger on. One, the one currently untying him, moves in a way Tony knows he has seen before. The other does as well, through considerably differently. Both, he’s never seen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he knows that never having seen someone before is no good way to ascertain if you know them, but it is a little curious, and slightly disorientating, to see such familiar movement in an unfamiliar body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony still can’t place where he knows them from.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The one untying him stands and nods carefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony Stark.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s me,” he responds. He really can’t help himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay safe,” they say, and disappear back through the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other, who has finished untying Nebula and checking her down for any injuries, move towards him in that confident yet careful, slightly militaristic way they move.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony Stark,” they say also.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again, he responds with, “That’s me,” because he’s really running out of wittiness by this age.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go see the supernova. I’ve heard it’ll be quite spectacular.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They, too, disappear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony can’t quite wrap his head around what just happened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would like to say that’s the shortest interrogation I’ve ever been a part of, but it’s really not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. Same.” Tony gives the chair he’s still slumped in a grimace. “That was weird. I felt like I knew them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. Weirder.” He doesn’t mention May.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula extends a hand and a small smile, both of which he takes graciously. He immediately collapses onto the floor, which was probably to be expected considering the fact that his ankle is broken.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, give me a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A moment? You’re ankle’s fucking broken.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When did you start swearing so much?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When I met you. And that’s not the point. The point is you’ve got a fucking broken ankle. Broken. Ankle. And you don’t get to do that push through and ignore my pain bullshit you usually do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony rolls his eyes and smiles, but the grimace sort of takes away from that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But Neb, that’s my whole thing. It’s my shtick. Without it, I’m nothing, nothing I tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s the injury talking. We need to go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we see the supernova? All this for nothing? Let’s at least see the supernova.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula hauls him up with hands that are surprisingly gentle and lets him lean heavily on her shoulder. It isn’t quite enough to stop the shooting pain on his foot at every step, but it makes a hell of a difference.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They take a quick detour to a side corridor to switch up their disguises, and then they’re standing before a dying star. It’s oddly beautiful in the last throes of its life. Not a lot of things are, but as the star flares in some last attempt at survival, it really is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>People are gathering by the windows, flocking together to stare at the star as it linger for a few more minutes. It’s growing violent now, eyes wide behind the strongest glass Tony could imagine. Even Nebula is staring up, enraptured, the star reflected in her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony, however, is only staring in the vague general direction of the star. More accurately, he’s staring at a small, silhouetted dot against the star. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as, slowly, it expands, stretching across only a tiny portion of the star as if in some helpless attempt to prevent what is about to happen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as a commotion from around an Idyll Enterprises structure detaches and heads hastily towards the ever-growing </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as the star explodes and the structure, in barely a second, stretches right across the star, right around all anyone would have been able to see and encasing it for barely a second.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as it disappears into nothing, as if pulled right into the fabric of space-time, leaving behind the crowds in uproar and confusion. The supernova is gone, and with it the machine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony understands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least, Tony would like to think he understands. There’s a plan, or an idea, developing in his mind and it is nowhere near completion but he thinks he might be able to comprehend what happened today. It needs a little, or more than a little work, but it might, just might get there. It’ll be their salvation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Afterwards, when the panic of the crowd has settled and their course is charted for the next system, they finally can relax.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was one hell of a confusing day,” Tony says, and Nebula can only hum and nod her agreement. “I mean, seeing May and then being arrested and then those random weird people who freed us and then that thing with the supernova. What the hell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May? As in Peter’s May? Kitchen demon May? Roller derby queen May?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There isn’t much to do but nod and accept the frankly mind-boggling reality of their existence. It’s all many of us can do, really, but especially if you’ve seen a very assuredly Terra-bound human in the void of space with an alien cocktail in one hand and some grip on reality in the other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would like to say I don’t know but I think I do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You think you know how May Parker might be in the Universe? Not on Terra? She’s a damn Terran nurse who’s never been ever off-planet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony shrugs. “If there’s anyone who deserves to see the universe, it’s her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula, who’s been fiddling with the control panel, turns back to him, and her face is unreadable. It isn’t usually this unreadable. At least, it hasn’t been for a while. Tony isn't exactly concerned, but there is something uncanny about it that makes him desperately hope that the progress they've made isn't going to be backtracked by a simply kidnapping.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You were gonna get tortured. For me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That changed direction fast.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not an answer,” she says, and her eyes are devastatingly sincere. Tony really isn’t sure what to think.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What answer do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. No you wouldn’t be tortured for me. You wouldn’t put yourself in danger just for me. I can do it, every time. You know I can and you, you’re, look, your health is less than perfect, your heart, your lungs. Look, I can take it, and maybe there will come a time when you can’t, ok? And if you die- look, you can’t die. I- I don’t know what I would do. And it’s not just you giving me a purpose, it’s-” She stops, she takes a shaking breath. “Besides Gamora, you’re the most important person to me, in my life, ever. Understand?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s crying. He’s not sure he started, and when he’s going to stop. Nebula said it matter-of-factly, but it feels anything but.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But it would be worth it. If you’re not aware, I’d do anything for you, Neb. Anything.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything?” She asks, and her voice is shaking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean, isn’t it obvious?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, it really is,” she starts, and he can tell she’s angry now. Really angry. “And it shouldn’t be. You. You shouldn’t. Tony, for fuck’s sake. For fuck’s actual sake okay, no. No, you’re not, you- Fuck, I’m not worth it, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s speaking English now, and he can’t figure out why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony, you need to listen to me. You can’t-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Tony says, voice raised. It’s the first time he’s consciously raised his voice to someone he considers his family since Siberia. He can’t quite work out how to feel about it. “You listen to me. If you say you’re not worth it again I will- I don’t even know. I don’t think I could bring myself to hurt you in any way so I guess I’d just be sad. You don’t want that, right? I’m joking. Or am I? Come on Neb, you know you mean the fucking universe to me, okay? Let me make my choices. If I think you are worth it, you are. That’s the end of the story.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony shushes her with a raised eyebrow. “Nope. No disputing. Now, May being in space.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula sits down beside him, looking more emotional than perhaps he has ever seen her. Still, she doesn’t push the topic, which is probably a good idea because Tony is on the edge of a panic attack and he doesn’t even know why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said you had an idea.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. It’s long and complicated and it could save the universe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She grins. “And how do we do it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. First things first, is there any way to contact Earth? There’s a certain genius kid I’ve got to get in touch with.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally, some plot. And Tony and Nebula being emotional idiots. I hope you enjoyed :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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